Of Wolf And Man (Supernatural AU)
by aggiedoll
Summary: When FBI agent Sam Campbell is nominated the Bureau s new contribution to the solving of a mysterious serial killer case, he is surprised to find his partner Castiel Novak not only to be unnervingly attractive, but also to have a very compatible ironic approach on the world in general and relationships in particular. Then they meet Dr. Dean Winchester, who assists with the case.


**Of Wolf And Man**

**Day 1**

_Finally, the lights went out._

_The Hunter sighed. What did people DO at 2.30 am in their living rooms that needed the full blaze of at least 10 different lamps...There was the `functional´ light, the` emotional´ light, the `nice background to your new flatscreen´- light, the `my stereo doesn´t only play music, it sports a freakin light show´-light. The indirect, the direct, and the `eye for an eye´- light (don´t stare at it for too long)._

_Jerry Mancini had all of them. Whether his home was some happy interior designer´s dream, or he or his wife just had a hand for these things, they looked pretty awesome. The Hunter watched through the binoculars, following the trail of light Mancini left: stairs-bathroom-bedroom-bathroom again-bedroom._

_Darkness._

_The Hunter opened the glove compartment, took out the gun, and put on the silencer._

_Time to play._

Sometimes, it was really hard to get out of bed.

Dean wasn´t exactly a morning person, but with the years, his body had adapted to the requests of his job – to lack of sleep, odd working hours, exhaustingly long night shifts, the sudden call-ins in case of emergencies on his days off. That is – he had willed his body to function in all of this. As did all the others in hospital – doctors, nurses, first-aid attendants, ambulance drivers...you kind of got used to it. The only times when Dean felt the toll the job took on his body was, ironically, during vacation. During the first two, even a maddenigly intense and exhausting sports program during his holidays hadn´t been able to provide him with the one thing he was so keen on finding outside the hospital: a good night´s sleep. Dreamless, and deep, and refreshing. And, most of all, uninterrupted. So he´d changed his vacation activity to - more work. Charity surgery was always welcome.

He killed the alarm and rubbed his tired eyes. God. He felt like he´d been up and running all night. Rolling out of bed, he winced. His left shoulder felt sore. Souvenir from his time as All-American Hero, AKA `five years in the army and we´ll pay for your college education´.

The face he found in his bathroom mirror did nothing to lighten his mood.

„Seriously...", he murmured, staring at the bleary-eyed man, dark smudges under his eyes, freckles sharp against the too pale skin. He hadn´t looked that bad even during his time in Iraq, and Afgahistan – well, due to the tan and the dirt maybe. It covered a lot.

One thing he´d learned fast as a doctor, though, was that time-efficiency was crucial...to the job, and to the rest of your life too, if you wanted to have any. So he managed to put sore limbs, tired eyes and sluggish brain on his mental `Excuse me, do I know you?´- list, and arrived at the hospital 20 min later in fairly good shape. If the smile the nurse at the counter gave him was anything to go with, even a little more than that.

He changed into his hospital clothes, the sensible shoes, scrubbed his hands clean with sanitizer, and was off to morning meeting and rounds. Another day in paradise.

_Cleaning up thoroughly was crucial. Or, even better, not messing around in the first place._

_As a Hunter, you had to be invisible, and untracable by smell and sound while the prey was still alive; but it was equally important to vanish after the strike – vanish as in: melting into non-existence._

_Meaning no hair, fiber, skin parts, dirt off his shoes, blood or other bodily fluids were ever to be found on the hunting grounds. He saw to that. Modern equipment made it relatively easy really. Sometimes, when things got a little...messy, it took more time; but he got there eventually. And so far, his prey had never had any idea what even hit them. Nor had those who were desperately trying to find out what the hell had happened._

_He smiled at the thought of all the policemen, detectives and CSI-fellows crawling on the floor, looking for traces they´d never find. Non-existent persons didn´t leave anything behind._

_The person he´d once been was dead and gone for a long time now._

_The Hunter was a ghost. _

Dean scrubbed his fingernails. They were already squeaky clean, but protocol said „sanitation for 10 min", so sanitation for ten minutes it was. He rubbed the desinfectant solution into his skin until it felt dry and papery, looking through the window into the operating room, where the nurses were laying out surgical instruments.

When the patient was rolled into the room, he sighed.

His colleague looked over. „Tough one?"

Dean kept rubbing his hands, not looking at her.

„Kids are always tough", he said. „But this one..." he shook his head.

„Ben´s a fighter", the pediatrician said.

Dean looked up then.

„Yeah...sometimes I wish he wasn´t", he answered.

Agent Samuel –Sam- Campbell looked at the illuminated Santa waving at him from the front garden of the rather big, and impressively decorated, house. He had a creepy smile. Sam hated Christmas decoration in general, and waving Santas especially.

The police officer standing right next to it didn´t seem too happy about his assignment either.

Sam ducked under the „do not cross"-tape, nodded at the young officer, a sympathetic smile on his face, and went to the entrance door.

„Can anybody put that creepy Santa out of his misery?", he asked the people crowding the entrance hall, most of them on their knees, wearing white overalls.

„And you are...?"

Sam turned at the gravelly voice in his back.

A man stared up at him, dark blue eyes piercing Sam´s. His face oozed vigilance, intelligence, and a kind of professional suspicion Sam had seen in many members of the police force.

„Detective Novak?", he asked, reaching for his ID.

„I´m Sam Campbell. I´ve been assigned your new FBI contact for this case."

The shorter man kept staring at Sam for another minute or so – Sam began to feel a little uneasy – God, had they put him with a weirdo AGAIN! - , then he smiled, and his face changed completely. He reached out his hand.

„Agent Campbell. I´m Detective Cas Novak. I sincerely hope you live up to your reputation."

Metallica was blazing into his ears, keeping out every sound anyone could possibly make in the operating room; and, what was far more important, it kept any memory, be it sound, picture or smell, deep down inside his brain. He´d found out about it during his military training – obviously, he belonged to the relatively small group of soldiers who worked best under stress situations. Well, it wasn´t really a disadvantage in his line of work then, and it wasn´t so here either. Operating WAS stress, no matter what everyone said about routine, and getting used to it, and finding your inner temple of peace or the ideal recipe for your next Thanksgiving turkey while cutting other humans open. For your body, for your brain, it was pure stress. Same went for your soul, if you believed in spirituality in general.

Musha rain dum-a-do-dum-a-da, yeah, yeah

Whack for my daddy-o

Whack for my daddy-o

There´s whiskey in the jar-o

Dean handed the scalpell to the nurse and nodded to his assistant to start sewing up. He didn´t leave though, as he might have with any other patient he operated. Ben was under his knife for the third time now, and he was only ten years old. A tough kid. It made Dean proud and sad at the same time.

„Didn´t look too bad this time", Dr. Harvelle, the pediatrician, said when they were losing their spoiled scrubs outside the operation room.

Dean looked up from the sink where he was washing his face. He took a fresh towel and pressed his nose into it for a second. He liked the simple, soapy smell. Always had.

„No", he answered. „It´s slowed down a little. But still..." He shook his head.

„He still has a chance, Dean", Ellen Harvelle said. „A realistic one. Since when are you the pessimist in here? That´s a new side in you I´m not sure I like, to be true."

Dean watched her roll her neck and shoulders.

He liked Ellen. She was direct, blunt even, but she never gave you any sappy shit or engaged herself in the usual power play going on within the hospital. She was a good doctor, she knew it, and acted like it. The kids loved her, and so did their parents, once they´d overcome the shock of meeting a doctor who´d actually tell them the truth when they asked for it. In the PG 18 version.

He tried to loosen his stone hard muscles too, to no noticable success. He should really go get some massage done soon. If he waited too long, the aching would grow unbearable, and he could happily do without it.

He realized Ellen was waiting for an answer, and shrugged his shoulders.

„I don´t know", he sighed. „Lack of sleep, I guess."

Ellen eyed him through squinted eyes for a moment.

„Don´t give me that", she huffed. „90% of the staff here would be suicidal if lack of sleep caused depr-... pessimism."

Dean looked up. „You think I´m depressed?", he asked, honestly interested. As if he himself were some patient they were talking about.

He smiled when he saw how awkward she felt about her half-remark. That was a new side on HER he could very well live with.

But she manned up and looked directly into his eyes. „Could be", she said. „I know you for a few years now, Dean. You´re not yourself, lately. Honestly, you got me a little worried here. So – get some help, or a dog, or do Origami for Christ´s sake. But stop being a Zombie. Please."

Dean grinned at her, deliberately flashing her the Dean Winchester Killer Smile. „I´ll think about it", he said. „Especially about the Origami thing. Because you said Please."

She rolled her eyes at him, and snorted, „Don´t think I´ll fall for your sparkling smile, famous as it might be. I can see right through it, boy. You´re watched. Closely!"

She gave him her equally famous Harvelle stare, for entire five seconds, and left through the swinging doors.

Dean sighed. He knew he had been a bit off his game during the last weeks. But he had hoped it had gone unnoticed. Well, he´d clearly underestimated his colleague. She had this kind of Mother Wolf instinct. Could sense if any member of the Pack was ...sick? Hurt? Too tired to even know? He was glad she couldn´t see that deep into him after all.

He left the scrub room to go see Ben´s Mom.

_Sitting in the truck for hours, first driving, then waiting, never tired him. On the contrary, it filled him with this special kind of energy, like a drug would do, making him feel overly alert and deadly calm at the same time. It was no different this time, even if the prey´s location was farer away than usual. Four hours in one direction was about the limit, and it meant he´d have to be fast and precise during the hunt to make it back in time._

_He´d limited the waiting time to his bottom limit of fifteen minutes. The prey´s never changing routine was making it predictable anyway. A small risk he was willing to take – it was all about perfect preparation, sure, but you always had to be ready to improvise. The Hunter was good at both._

_Aside from one single lit window, the house was dark, and would be for exactly another eight minutes. The Hunter took his gun, got out of the car, and let the knife slide into its leg holster. Insurance. He went to the far end of the front garden, crossed the lawn with five fast strides, and pressed himself against the wooden panelling. The security camera made its slow turn. He checked his watch. NOW._

_17 seconds. His time frame here was narrow, but he beat it by over 8 seconds. The door opened silently, and he slipped in, careful not to bump against the frame with his duffle bag. A few seconds for orientation while he was checking the noises in the house. The best preparation could be blown in the wind by a wife having a nightmare or a kid with a tummy bug._

_It was quiet, though. The study was in the back of the house. He could see the streak of light under the last door on the right. Three minutes left. It was a nice change having a prey following a time table as meticulously planned as his own. It made things a lot easier._

_Standing outside the door, he took the small case out of his breast pocket. Two minutes. He took the syringe out of the case, snapped the cap off and stuffed it into the pocket again. He heard the chair squeak inside the room. A laptop was being shut, desk lamp turned off._

_Footsteps, rather heavy ones. The door opened, somebody switched off the light in the study. NOW._

_The Hunter used the one second of darkness to strike. The large man in the doorframe reached for the light switch in the hall when the syringe was slammed into a spot right behind his ear. It was a little tricky with only one eye on night sight, but the routine took over, making the Hunter´s movements precise and unfallible. He pushed the syringe´s content into the man´s blood stream before he could even make a sound. The Hunter grabbed his prey under one arm, turned the already half paralised body and pressed it against the wall. He waited for ten seconds, until he heard the man´s breathing slow and finally stop. The body went limp, and he let it slide down the wall and on the floor. Despite the smooth precision of the whole action, he was sweating profusely. The guy was huge, and holding him upright for only a short time left the Hunter drenched. The protective clothing did the rest. _

_The Hunter put the used syringe back in its case and went back in the hall to fetch his duffle bag. Back in the study, he closed the door, locked it, and took his gear out. The large plastic tarpaulin came first. He spread it on the floor behind the desk, grabbed the man´s body under his arms and pulled him over, positioning him in the middle of the tarp. He knelt down at its side, took the headlamp out of the bag, and put it on; took off the night vision instrument, and thoroughly stuffed it into the small casing. The sharp light of the lamp made him close his eyes for a second. _

_He laid out the knife, the gauze, and the jar. Then he opened the dead man´s trousers, pulled them down over his hips, with some effort; He stuffed gauze between the body´s legs, and took the surgical knife._

_He took a moment to look at his prey´s crown jewels. They looked pathetic, limp and shrivelled, but then they always did on dead things. He carefully put the man´s penis aside, grabbed his balls, and with one swift and precise cut took them off. He let them glide into the jar, wiped the knife with desinfectant before laying it down, and pressed the gauze against the fresh cut. It stopped bleeding after a short time anyway. Just to be sure, he sprayed a layer of styptic solution on it._

_Time to clean up. He stuffed the bloody gauze into a plastic bag, wiped the tarpaulin, then his gloved hands; after that, he put the penis back in place, pulled up the pants and closed the fly. He dragged the heavy body over to the chair and pulled the tarp out from under it. He cleaned it thoroughly, folded it and put it back in the duffle bag, stowed his instruments and the well closed jar in the small metal box and put it in there, too. He arranged the body in a way it looked natural; put the chair down on the floor as if it had fallen, and opened the laptop. It was on standby. The Hunter smiled. They always felt too safe. He brought the screen back to life, searched the internet timeline, and re-opened the last window. It would give the police something to think about._

„_Look at you, you pervy bastard", he murmured when the pictures came up._

_He left the laptop open, stepped over the body, took his duffle bag, and went to the door. A last quick glance over the whole room. No trace of anyone besides the dead man on the floor, whose arm was visible behind the desk._

_He unlocked the door, left the room, and slipped out of the entrance. The security camera was just turning away. Perfect. He went for the left corner of the house again, crossed the lawn,and the street, and was inside the truck in no time. It was kind of risky parking it right in the street where the prey lived. But he could need a little kick anyway, and so did the police investigation. Should anyone have noticed the car, and even written down the numbers (you never knew...there was a lot of paranoid people out there with absolutely nothing to do), it would just lead them to another wrong turn._

_He checked his watch. Fifteen minutes. Not his best time, but good enough. He looked at the silent house, now totally dark. It would be an interesting morning for all the people around here._

_The Hunter started the car – some neighbor would remember the sound, someone always did – and pulled away from the curb. When he reached the interstate, he turned on the radio. He rolled his stiff neck, and smiled when an old Rock song came on. Singing along and drumming on the wheel, he started to grin. He loved the night drives._

_Especially after a hunting trip, the trophy secured in his bag._

_Another one down the list._

**Day 2**

„Campbell."

„Novak here. We got another one."

Sam rubbed his eyes and squinted at the alarm clock on the motel bedside table. 6.45.

It was still pitch dark.

„Where?"

„Little Creek. About 250 miles northwest. I´m already on the road."

„No doubt it´s him? It´s a little outside the usual range."

„Somebody´s taken the body´s balls. Clear cut, no traces at all. Believe me, it´s him."

„Dammit", Sam murmured, waddling to the bathroom. He cleared his throat.

„That was ...fast", he added, voice rough.

„Yeah...intervals are shortening. He´s gaining speed."

Sam heard tapping on a keyboard.

„I sent you the address and the local sherriff´s statement...so far, they don´t have much. The body´s in the morgue now, the pathologist will start her examination in a few minutes. The crime scene´s totally ruined. Everyone from the family to the ambulance crew trampled through the room...even the dog for God´s sake. Not that there´d have been anything to find I guess."

Sam hufffed. „Never sloppy until now, this guy. But he´ll make a mistake eventually. If he´s speeding up, we could get lucky."

The Detective sighed. Sam heard the scratching noise of a hand rubbing over chin stubble.

„Question is, how many more corpses we´ll have to collect until this mistake occurs. IF it ever occurs. I don´t know, but this one´s a pretty perfect one. Totally crazy bastard, but freakin´ perfect."

Sam stared at his own face in the mirror, the puffy eyes, tangled hair.

„Well...we´ll see. I´ll hit the road in ...15 min. See you there."

„See ya."

The Zombie face stared back at Sam. It looked pissed.

„Don´t worry...you´ll make that mistake...and we´ll get your sorry ass, Mr. Perfect. Hell - _I`ll _get your ass if I have to do it alone."

12 minutes later, he pulled out of the motel´s parking lot.

„Jeez..."

Dean listened to a full two minutes of „Thunder" before he pushed the „alarm off" – button. The silence that followed enhanced all the little noises that got in from the outside – the occasional car going by his house, the rumble of the trash collection truck, the dribble of raindrops on his bedroom window. Rain. Great.

Sitting up, he moaned. His shoulders and back felt like someone had tightened every single muscle fibre in them. The familiar throbbing in the back of his head made him lean back against the wall and close his eyes again for a moment.

He should really, really go get that massage. As long as it still helped.

„Detective Novak?"

„Please...it´s Cas."

„Ok – sorry. So – Cas." Sam hesitated for a moment.

„Yes?" The detective´s voice was even gruffier than the day before. Sam gathered Cas hadn´t got much sleep either.

„The report says Mr. Morris was found at 2am by his wife...she was woken by a car´s engine outside her house, went down the stairs to look after her husband, and found him dead on the floor of his study. According to her words, he was ´still warm´."

„Yes...that´s right, as far as I remember. Wait – are you reading the report while you´re driving?"

Sam chuckled. „Nah – I´ve got an app on my ipad. It reads stuff out loud. Comes in handy in the car."

Novak huffed. „You FBI guys always that geeky? I have to say, that puts my view of the world back in place again. I started to doubt the Heavenly Order when I noticed you didn´t wear an ugly tie yesterday."

Sam couldn´t help laughing.

„Where do you get your intel on the world from – TV-shows?"

He heard Novak chuckle. „Mostly – isn´t that what we police officers do most of our time – we drink too much coffee, eat crappy donuts, and watch TV at the precinct?"

Sam liked the guy. He wasn´t above self-irony, and that was a quality seldomly found in members of the police force.

„Your words, not mine, Detective...anyway. About the case."

„I´m listening."

„The street where Morris lived is in a pretty quiet neighborhood I guess..."

„Believe me, whole Little Creek IS a quiet neighborhood. We´re talking 2000 citizens here. Main Street in the morning looks like the set of „High Noon". The duel scene."

Classic movie references. Sam smiled. Detective Novak had stepped up another rung on his sympathy ladder.

„I see...well, then we can probably reign out heavy traffic in ...what was it...Jefferson Ave at 2am."

„Yeahhhh..." Novak drew the word out. „I see where you´re headed", he said slowly.

„Dammit – the son of a bitch parked his car right in front of his victim´s house! That´s a new level..."

Sam smiled. It was not a pleasant smile.

„My thoughts exactly...and you know what?"

„What."

„I think Mr. Perfect just made his first mistake."

Two minor surgeries and two pain killers later, Dean stood in front of his locker, staring at the cigarette packet lying at the back. The pills hadn´t really extinguished the painful throbbing in his head, but rather muffled his body´s reaction to it, leaving him with one prevalent feeling – the need for sleep, and the longing for a cigarette. He wondered if it would ever get easier not to smoke. So far, he had tried so many times to quit for real that his hope the longing would some day cease to torture him was pretty much reduced to nothing. At least he managed to keep it at what he called „emergency smokes".

„Bad day?"

He stirred, and turned to look at the young man at the end of the locker row.

Jake gave him a sympathetic smile, nodding at Dean´s hands. When he looked down, Dean was surprised to see the cigarettes there. When had he taken them out?

„My head´s killing me", he answered, rolling his shoulders and neck.

„You sure look like crap", Jake said, taking a fresh T-shirt out of his locker.

Dean huffed. „ Well - I guess one smoke won´t make it worse then", he said, picking the lighter from his leather jacket´s pocket, and closed the locker again.

Jake looked at him, head cocked.

„Honestly? If quitting turns you into this grumpy Abaneezer Scrooge kind of person each time, I´ll happily sign a receipt authorizing any number of medicinal smokes for you."

Dean massaged the bridge of his nose. The second pain killer started to wear off.

He sighed. „Have I been that bad? Sorry, man. I guess I have...as you´re the second person to tell me in two days."

Jake laughed. „Ellen?", he asked.

„You bet."

„Well, all I can tell you, if the cigarettes don´t kill you because you quit smoking for real, your colleagues might. Seriously, Dean, I don´t even understand why you´re torturing yourself that much. It´s not as if you´re a chain-smoker. Have your occasional cigarette and ENJOY it for God´s sake."

Dean turned the lighter in his hand. It was old, and well used, the silver covering wearing off. There had been an engraving once, but it was faded and nearly unreadable now. It had been Latin, he remembered as much.

„I guess it´s...I dunno. I know damn well one cigarette a day won´t cost me a year of my life." And then, who knew what could happen within a year... „It´s more...it kind of embarrasses me I can´t give up on it."

He looked up, meeting Jakes eyes, a lopsided grin on his face. „Here I was, thinking of me as this great strong willed guy in full control of his body´s needs." He shrugged his shoulders. „Guess I was wrong. I just have to wrap my mind around it."

Jake laughed again. „Welcome to the world of us ordinary humans, Dean. I have to say it is comforting to know there are things even you have to struggle for."

He pulled the lily white T-shirt over his head and the dark chocolate skin of his body.

„Stop trying to be so damn perfect all the time, Dean. It´s OK to be the superhero inside the operation room, but outside? Just be human like the rest of us."

Jake padded his shoulder briefly.

„And have that goddamn cigarette. Doctor´s orders."

Sam pulled at the kerb about 100 meters from Jefferson Ave 1403, the address Novak had sent him. Police cars and a white CSI van were parked in front of the house. Sam took a minute to lean back against the seat and close his eyes. A three hours drive, most of it in heavy rain, after only three hours of sleep, was not exactly his idea of a perfect morning.

Jefferson Ave was exactly as he´d imagined it – a quiet neighborhood, nice houses behind well kept front gardens, everything heavily decorated for Christmas, the occasional patriotic flag in between; even the garbage cans looked clean and new. The perfect American dream. Sam shuddered.

He put his ipad into the battered leather briefcase containing some of the files they´d gone over the night before, and left the car. The rain had finally stopped, but the air was damp, leaving a fine layer of droplets on his coat and hair.

Entering the house, a strong sense of deja-vu overcame him. The Christmas lights, the front garden lawn, the stairs leading to the door: almost the same as yesterday. And there were the tech people from CSI of course, the police officers – and Detective Novak´s voice coming from a room at the back of the house. Sam wondered for a moment if the clue to the victims was hidden in the similarity of the neighborhoods.

It sure was the only thing linking the victims together so far. If you ruled out ugly Christmas decoration as a motive for murder. Contemplating the sparkling raindeers, impressive sledge plus – yes – another waving Santa on the roof of the house across the street, Sam wasn´t sure they should. If he had to look at this kind of Christmas Cheer every day for weeks, he would probably turn into a psychotic serial killer too.

„Sam."

He turned to find Detective Novak standing in front of him.

„Cas."

„Mind blowing, isn´t it?"

Novak gestured to the roof with his chin.

„Absolutely", Sam answered drily, shaking the water off his shoulders.

Novak threw him a slanted glance.

„Not much of a Christmas Decorator, are we?"

Sam huffed. „I´d rather kill myself", he said.

Novak laughed.

„Then let me give you one very, very useful advise. If you ever plan on marrying, check the girl out thoroughly. It will spare you a lot of grievance."

Sam blushed furiously - marriage, yeah - but cocked his head. He hadn´t missed the sarcastic undertone of Novak´s remark.

„Bad experiences?"

Novak shrugged his shoulders, a somewhat sullen expression on his face.

„Only one. But believe me, one ugly divorce´s enough."

Sam eyed him for a moment, then nodded slowly.

„Well, thanks for sharing the wisdom", he said. It came out less ironic than he ´d intended.

The other man squinted at him. „Gotta watch out for the young ones, haven´t we", he said, a rueful smile on his face. „But don´t listen to an old mule´s ranting if you´re still a stud in his best years. It´s your turn to enjoy life and make as many mistakes as possible."

Sam laughed out loud. „Stop it, man. You know damn well I´m only five years younger than you. Or do you honestly tell me you haven´t checked out my file?"

Novak grinned. „Are you kidding me? The FBI sends us their new wunderkind and I´m just sitting on my ass wriggling my thumbs, waiting to be pleasantly surprised? Not gonna happen."

Sam huffed. „Well, as we are sharing secrets...I DID check you outa little, too. I like to know who I´m working with."

„Nothing despicable in that", Novak commented.

They looked at each other almost fondly.

„Let´s get to work, then", Novak sighed.

„I´ll show you the room."

It had ceased to rain. Delicate streaks of fog moved between the buildings, strange but beautiful deep sea animals conquering a long sunk city. Dean followed the trail of his second cigarette´s smoke with his eyes. Lunch break was almost over, and if he wanted to grab any bite at all, he should seriously go down to the cafeteria within the next five minutes.

He stubbed out the cigarette in the bucket of sand some considerate caretaker (Gabe, most likely) had put on the roof for the little flock of smokers. Usually, Dean met one or two of them up here; but he was truly glad he´d had the roof for himself this time. All in all, he didn´t feel too great, and he wasn´t a chatty person on the best of days.

So. Food. Just thinking of any of the things they sold in the hospital´s cafeteria made his stomach squirm unpleasantly. No food then. He´d just have a powerbar at the vending machine, it would keep him running until the end of shift.

So, instead of leaving, he took a few more minutes to contemplate the view. It was brilliant. Breathtaking. Streaks of sunshine leaked between the dark billowing clouds, illuminating the whisps of fog and turning the grey concrete buildings into golden palaces for an instant. Then the clouds closed again, and the magic moment was gone.

Dean rubbed his eyes. At least the cigarettes had helped shove the headache down a few degrees. He turned, and went to try his luck at the vending machines. Maybe there were still Snickers.

Sam was talking to Mrs. Morris when Novak got the call from the morgue.

„Pathologist´s finished", he murmured, after having pulled Sam aside.

„Let´s go see her, shall we? Not much we can do here at the moment anyway."

Sam nodded, thanked Mrs. Morris, and they left for Novak´s car (which was, cliché be praised, the typical dark grey ten years old sedan, back seats filled with paperwork, a duffle bag (supposedly containing spare clothes), and a cardboard box with used paper cups, wrappings of at least three different burger chains, chinese take away boxes, and a few things Sam didn´t want to explore too deeply. He raised an eyebrow at Novak.

The detective didn´t seem bothered tho, shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly, and put on the safety belt.

„My car, my castle, my rules", he said. „And no complaining."

Sam grinned. „Complaining about what?"

Novak grinned back, rolling his eyes.

„The music", he said.

„Why – you listening to Celine Dion or what?"

The burst of laugh he got from Cas was genuine. Sam noticed the change in Novak´s face again. It was pretty fascinating. Like witnessing a younger, less troubled Cas seep out from under a layer of bad personal experiences, an emotionally challenging job - of life, actually. Life as it was once you got under the pretty surface of Christmas lights and perfectly mown lawns.

The detective was trying to speak, but could hardly breathe.

„Not...quite...", he mustered after a few minutes.

He turned the ignition. Deafening Heavy Metal filled the car, making Sam jump.

He threw back his head and laughed out loud.

Detective Novak sure was a man worth knowing.

„So, apparently the good Mr. Morris really did have a stroke", the pathologist, an attractive, if tiny and minute Asian woman in her late forties, said over her shoulder. Sam slowly got the impression to have stranded in the land of cliché–come-true.

He exchanged a look with Novak.

„He did?", Cas replied, eyebrows raised.

„Definitely", the doctor – her name tag read „Dr. Tran" – answered. The slight smile tugging at the corners of her mouth promised something interesting though.

Dr. Tran opened the door to the examination room, and went straight to a body covered with a light blue cloth.

She pulled back the cover to reveal an average man with greying hair, receding at the temples; the bags under his eyes and the reddish spiderweb on his nose spoke of a longer lasting, unhealthy relationship with alcohol.

Sam knew that Morris was – had been – 49. Looking down in the calm face, he saw a man aged beyond his years. He´d given the guy at least 58 years.

„If your serial killer hadn´t taken his balls, we´d never have found out", Dr. Tran admitted. „But the heart attack was not a natural one. We – I searched for quite a while before I found it."

She turned the dead man´s head to one side, and folded the right ear so the skin behind it was exposed.

„Even looking at it that way, you can´t see anything, right?"

Sam and Novak bowed down to have a closer look. A magnifying glass was held under their noses.

„Try that", Dr. Tran said.

Novak was faster and grabbed the device. He searched the skin inch per inch.

„Ah."

„Found it?", Dr. Tran asked.

Novak reached the magnifying glass to Sam. He squinted through the lense.

A tiny puncture mark, almost invisible.

„A syringe", Sam murmured. „Brilliant." He straightened up again.

Dr. Tran took the magnifying glass from his hand.

„Either your guy has seen too many spy movies and is a superhuman natural, or he has some special training. He used exactly the right amount of poison, applied it perfectly, in a place where it can practically not be found, but reaches the blood stream in the shortest possible time."

She looked down at the exposed penis.

„If it weren´t for the testicles, it would have been labelled a natural death. 100%."

Sam stared at the limp colorless penis.

Novak stirred at his side.

„Which means -"

„ – he wants us to find out", Sam finished his sentence.

Novak looked at him pensievely.

„A psychopathic serial killer going for trophies and showing us his middle finger", he said. „Did I forget anything?"

Dr. Tran cleared her throat.

„Yes", she said. „A psychopathic serial killer going for trophies in an absolutely professional way. I´d say he has medical training at least, if not a full degree in medicine – AND practical training."

She looked at them over the rim of her reading glasses.

„Which makes him all the more dangerous."

Dr. Tran´s very thorough report revealed other interesting details.

They sat in her tiny office, going through the pages, as she had no other „patient" at the time and was, obviously, intrigued by the case too.

„The analysis of the poison used to kill Mr. Morris is not completed yet – won´t be before tomorrow. But I have a strong suspicion...my son has served in the military, first aid medical team. I remember he told me once they had a weird case...a higher up dropping dead out of nowhere. One of the medical examiners was suspicious enough to run a full term analysis...and they found out his medication had been tampered with. He had suffered from diabetes btw...daily injections. They only found out because this one examiner was pretty obsessed...a true perfectionist. They never got a clue whether the victim had inadvertently messed up – he was the highest ranking official in medical supplies then – or if he had been murdered. Or – they suspected it was murder, but could never find any proof. My son didn´t tell me much, but he always said the whole thing was weird – because the investigation was turned down pretty fast, and they even had the examiner sign a statement...all classified material or something like that."

Sam and Novak listened intently.

„And this is connected to us here how?", Novak asked.

Dr. Tran frowned.

„I´m pretty sure the same substance was used here. You see, the case never made it into official reports, but my son knew the examiner back then...and he told him the poisonous substance was a tampered form of Tetrodotoxin used in chemical weapon´s tests for a short period. And as far as I can tell so far – it fits perfectly."

She looked at them, a concerned expression on her face.

„This could be a coincidence, but..."

Sam looked at Novak. The detective shook his head slowly.

„Don´t they say there is no such thing as coincidences...", he murmured.

Sam held his breath. „Wait a minute...", he said. „In the report from the second case...the shop manager who was killed by asphyxiation...didn´t it say the killer could very likely have military background? Because of the technique he used..and the special way the surgical cut was performed?"

Novak stared at nothing for a moment. Then he nodded. „Mr. Bukowsky. You´re right. The medical examiner was a veteran too, otherwise it would have gone unnoticed."

Dr. Tran got up.

„Well, another so called coincidence as it seems. Gentlemen, I have another appointment in ten minutes and have to prep my assistant first, he´s new at the job and a pain in my – never mind. You know where to reach me in case of further questions."

Sam and Novak got to their feet, they shook hands with the doctor – she hardly reached Sam´s chest, and he had to suppress the urge to bend down – and left the building.

At the door, Novak stopped abruptly.

„Wait – we have to find out what unit her son was in so we can learn more about that incident she was talking about."

He was about to turn around, when Sam grabbed his arm.

„No need to bother her", he said. „What´s the internet for, right? Shouldn´t be too hard to find out her son´s name and telephone number."

Novak cocked his head.

„Yes, but as to the rest...military information? What´s more, classified military information? I doubt that´s your paygrade, Sam. Or if you´re even in the right agency for this kind of thing."

Sam grinned broadly.

„That might be true, and I´m damned if they pay me enough for this, but hey – the new wunderkind´s in town, remember? Time I get a chance to play for the audience!"

Dean was done in. While the two cigarettes and the chocolate bar had filled him with a nervous energy for two or three more hours, the effect had worn off fast after that; now, he was leaning against the elevator´s walls, pictures of his bed filling his head. The painful throbbing started to become really annoying again, and he was well aware that if he didn´t get a healthy meal and some sleep soon, it would develop into one of his worse evenings.

He left the elevator and headed for the locker room. The last surgery, not to mention the tedious paper work, had taken longer than expected, so most of his colleagues had already left. He changed into jeans and T-shirt, wrestled with the sleeves of his flanell shirt for a second – he was glad no one watched him – and slipped on the well worn leather jacket. He was tying his shoelaces when someone entered the locker room.

Dean looked up from the bench. Crap.

„Jo", he said cautiously.

„Dr. Dean fucking Winchester", came the snide reply.

„Should I feel honored? I guess I should. It´s not as if everyone gets the chance to be in the same room with you. The great freaking surgeon genius and war hero and what not."

Dean wiped his face and rubbed his eyes. He was so not ready to have a fight with Jo right now.

„Jo...", he began.

„What!"

She turned towards him, glared at him, looking directly into his eyes for the first time. Dean could tell she was infuriated. Still. But he also saw the hurt in her eyes.

He sighed, and opened his mouth, but she wouldn´t let him speak.

„Don´t you dare apologize one more time to me, Dean. I´m sick of it. I´m sick of you. Just – just stay out of my way, and of my life, until you can tell me something new. Something REAL. Like the truth."

She stared at him with such anger in her face it made Dean get up and take a step towards her. He needed to make her understand -

She stepped back, raising her hands as if in defense.

„Don´t", she whispered. „Just – don´t."

Dean was shocked to see a hint of fear in her face. What – why would she be afraid of him – they had had fights, jeez, lots of them, but –

„Jo, what – I don´t -"

She shook her head. „You don´t understand? Believe me, I know. It´s one of the few things I perfectly understand, Dean. That the great superhero DW doesn´t get the most simple basics of human relationships. Like -"

„Er...sorry, I didn´t want to intrude -"

„It´s OK. I´m finished." Another murderous glance, then she turned to her locker, pulled her clothes out rather violently, and left the room for the showers.

Dean looked after her, dumb struck, for several seconds, before he became aware of the other man in the room again.

„Sorry, Winchester, I – awkward."

Dean tried to get the foggy feeling out of his head. Someone started to play a really heavy bass drum inside there. He felt the vibration of his skull, needles pinching his eyes painfully.

„It´s OK", he murmured. „I guess I deserved that." Although, to be true, he wasn´t sure he did...how Jo could still be so pissed about their break up...it had been two months, for God´s sake. And they hadn´t been engaged or something. Well, almost. God, her eyes – was she AFRAID of him? He´d never touched her – well, other than having hot sex or snuggling or dancing or...

„Ahem..."

Dean opened his eyes. He hadn´t even noticed he had closed them.

„You sure you´re alright? You look...er.. tired?"

Dean huffed.

„I´m good, but thanks for asking. I AM tired."

He took the helmet out of the locker and closed it.

„Which is why I´ll be out of here as fast as I can now."

He threw a glance in the direction of the shower room. The colleague, an anesthesist ten years his senior, followed his gaze.

„They ..er...can be pretty scary sometimes", he remarked akwardly, not looking at Dean.

„Amen to that", Dean said. „Well – I´ll leave before I get another round shot at me. Good night..."

He was already half way down to the garage when he noticed he hadn´t even finished tying his laces.

It took Sam about ten minutes to find Dr. Tran´s son – name, address, place of employment, military carreer, unit, tours, everything. He didn´t tell Novak he could have found out Kevin´s current financial status, the date of his last dentist´s appointment (and the nature and costs of the treatment), and probably enough pictures of him to fill a photo album for his mother in another half hour. But that meant treading well over the line to illegality, even for an FBI agent (especially for an FBI agent). Sometimes Sam missed his happy and (relatively) carefree hacker days at college. Now, he sometimes got the suffocating feeling there was a form to fill in for every key he pressed on his laptop (if not two).

Novak watched him work, all the while talking on his phone, calling his precinct, his superior, the technicians, and getting a few calls himself. His eyes rarely left Sam´s screen though, he even pointed at some text or other to show they carried valuable information for them. The man seemed to be a multitasker (considering he had a double sized Starbucks coffee in the left hand while taking calls with his right already, and didn´t spill a droplet, he really had perfected his performance).

Kevin did not answer his phone, though, which was not a great surprise given the time of day and his employment at a private clinic specializing in drug addiction treatment – drugs of any kind, obviously, if the ad they found online wasn´t just an exaggeration.

So they left a voice message, and decided to have lunch at a local diner.

Sam watched Novak in awe. The man was lean, on the border to skinny, and wolfed down two burgers in front of Sam´s eyes – together with fries, and an extra salad, and with a chocolate donut waiting for him as dessert („Gotta bring in all the food groups, right?"). Either the man was bulemic or had a fantastically working energy burner somewhere inside him. Or, Sam thought, absent mindedly following Novak´s tongue with his eyes when they licked over chocolate covered lips, maybe he ate a lot at a time – but only every other day or so.

„Are you eating that or not?", Sam was ripped from his thinking-and-staring trance.

Jeez, Novak eyed Sam´s Cesar´s Salad (or what the diner took for it, it would probably be better named after some lowly emperor, or one of the crazy nutcases like Nero) with a certain interest.

„Yes, yes", Sam hastily replied, and pulled his Take-me-Shake-me cup nearer. It was Novak´s turn to stare now, and Sam felt uncomfortable shaking his salad with the detective´s keen eyes on him. When he opened the lid, Novak´s phone rang – Sam sighed with relief (if almost inaudibly). Being stared at while eating salad from a tub was definitely not on his „10 things I want to experience before I die"- list. Novak excused himself and went to the mens´ room to take the call. Sam munched his salad (it was definitely not a Cesar´s Salad, but good enough, and he´d sure not be picky here in the middle of nowhere).

„You always that healthy an eater?", a gravelly voice from behind startled him.

Sam chuckled. „I guess I make up for your food related sins. Makes us the perfect partners."

Novak huffed, and rolled his eyes. „Scary", he murmured, taking his seat again.

„Sorry about the phone call. It wasn´t work related, so.."

„That´s OK", Sam hastily replied. Considering the clearly visible frown on Novak´s face it was probably his ex wife who´d called. Watching Novak from under his lashes, he saw his jaw firmly set, teeth pulling on his lower lip, eyes burning. Uh oh. THAT looked like a major drama. Sam opened his mouth, and closed it again. It was none of his business, after all, and he knew Novak for – not even two days now?

„Money", Novak sighed. „It always comes down to money in the end. The sad remains of six years of marriage: fighting over 100 dollars."

Sam eyed the detective for a moment. He wasn´t really experienced in relationships, at least the kind that lasted longer than one week, and included any bonding outside of sex.

„Sorry", he said finally.

„Well, it´s over and out, as you say, right? It´s only unnerving that she somehow always manages to wriggle my cell number out of some idiot at the precinct, or the Police Department, or even General Administration. She is a journalist, so she has her ways..."

Sam smiled sympathetically. That was exactly why he didn´t have experience: too much risk of ending in Novak´s place. Better share the fun, and adios when it started to wear off.

„How long...", he started, and didn´t quite know how to go on.

Novak looked up from the napkin he was fiddling with.

„The divorce? Six months next week."

„I see." Well, he did, in a general way. „And – is it – how do you cope?"

Novak looked at him, obviously slightly surprised at the personal question.

Sam rowed back. „Ah – sorry, I – you don´t have to -"

„No, it´s OK. Actually - " His hands seemed to be fascinated by the red-and-white paper napkin, folding and unfolding it constantly. „Actually, my therapist told me to talk to someone, and as a divorce has the unpleasant side effect of having all your friends take sides, in my case, my wife´s, I´ve not got anyone left I´d spill my guts to. So - I will take advantage of the situation and make you listen to my heartbroken rants, if you are OK with it."

The sarcasm dripping from his words didn´t cover all of the frustration behind them.

„Wait – yor friends sided with your wife – ex-wife? How´s that?"

Novak huffed. „First of all, they weren´t so much my friends as my wife´s, obviously. There are a few people left at the precinct who are still talking to me, though. And then – well, as my wife was classified the „victim" here, no one was much inclined to stick with the guilty side."

„Guilty? You – you didn´t - " Sam hated awkward situations like that one.

„She caught me _in flagranti_, as it´s so nicely called. In our apartment."

„Oh sh...crap."

„Yeah..."

Sam squirmed inwardly. Christ, he had run into that one ...

„It wasn´t maybe her best friend, just to make things perfect?"

Novak huffed. Then he leaned back his head, and laughed silently. His shoulders jerked.

When he looked at Sam again, he didn´t blink.

„No. It was a man."

„I see...wait, WHAT?"

All the time it took them to soak the available napkins with the coffee Sam had spilled, Novak had this slight smirk on his face that made Sam want to slap him and kiss him at the same time.

By the time Dean arrived at his house, it was already dark. He waited for the garage to open – he could swear it took the thing longer each time -, drove the heavy Kawasaki into the garage, and parked it. He pulled the helmet off his head and shoved his hand through his hair, sighing. Driving got increasingly more difficult after work, the traffic getting heavier now that Christmas was near. He stared at the workbench in front of him, the neatly hung tools on the wall, the boxes with all kinds of spare parts under the bench. Sometimes he wasn´t sure he´d chosen the right path. It had been clear pretty soon for him that he´d be patching up things for a living – motorbikes, cars, or humans, that, on the other hand, hadn´t been clearly established for some time. And now that he was a surgeon, he sometimes wondered if he´d be happier with only bikes to tear apart and put together again. Repairing motors had this special way of calming him down... it was the simplicity of it. No pain, no recovery time, no family and friends of the patient to deal with. Only motor parts, grease and tools, and happy customers when the thing worked again smoothly. Run or rust, that was it with motors. No shades, no in-betweens.

He finally got off the well-worn leather seat, hung his leather jacket on the moose antlers the former owner of the house had left on the wall (an impressive pair, at least 6,5" width). Rolling his shoulders and neck, he went into the dark house through the back door.

A look into the open fridge made him sigh again. So much to a healthy meal. Well, he´d take care of his body in another way, then, and do something to loosen his sore muscles. Leaving the house ten minutes later in his running gear, Dean finally felt the day at the hospital glide off his skin.

On their drive back to the crime scene, Sam couldn´t help throwing furtive glances at Novak every five minutes or so. When they´d finally attracted a waitress with their pathetic attempts to get rid of the mess on their table, Cas rubbing Sam´s coffee-soaked jacket with a fast dissolving napkin, and she addressed them with „Oh, don´t worry, sweethearts, I´ll have you cleaned up in no time", offering a warm and pretty suggestive smile with the words, they´d barely made it out in time before bursting into hysterical laughter outside the diner.

„Are you checking me out?", Novak finally asked, in mock annoyance.

„Definitely", Sam answered drily.

„You´re lucky to get my sugary side, then", Novak said.

„You have a sugary side?"

„So I´ve been told. Can´t really tell, as I´m not creepy enough to stare at pictures of myself long enough to find out."

„Well, if you ask nicely, I could do some research on the matter. I am known as a thorough worker."

„All in the name of science, huh." Novak´s lips twitched.

„What else would it be for!" Sam´s voice held a smile in it.

Jeez. How had they turned this from a professionally friendly working relationship to open flirtation within an hour?

„Don´t ask me, wonderboy", Novak said lightly. „I´m just the dumb policeman here, remember? Science has never been my thing, really...I´m the hands-on type."

„Is that so..."

This was definitely fun. Sam looked at Novak´s twitching face. He had a way of laughing soundlessly that was pretty ...turning on. His eyes fixed on the slender hands gripping the steering wheel. They looked delicate, almost feminine. Sam wondered how it would feel to have them caress his face...and wander down his body...

The buzz of Novak´s phone ripped him from his pleasant fantasies.

Novak sighed. „End of break, I guess", he murmured, and the look he shot Sam, eyebrows slightly raised, told Sam the flirting hour was over. It was back to professional now. He set his face back to the cool, a little arrogant mask he usually wore at work.

The only comfort was the regret he´d found in Cas´ eyes when he pressed the speaker button on his console.

„Novak!"

Sam hastily opened his laptop to cover what this gravelly voice did to his less controllable body parts.

Dean breathed in the cold foggy air deeply. Once on track, the usual rush had made him run the extra mile, and in a fairly good time, too, considering... Now, his shirt was soaked, clinging to his body under the hoody, and the humidity caught in his hair dripped down his face. He stretched his legs meticulously, and tried a tentative pull on his left arm. Better. Definitely better.

His stomach chose the moment to give him an audible reminder of its emptiness.

„OK, OK...", he murmured. He was so used to ignoring his physical needs, it sometimes surprised him that his body still insisted on having any.

On his way back, Dean stopped at „Rashid´s Shop & Deli" to pick up something more promising than the sad contents of his neglected fridge (which wasn´t difficult), a six pack of beer, and some of Rashid´s delicious home made bread. The scent, together with the warmth of the loaf, made his stomach growl expectantly. Rashid looked up.

„Someone´s hungry here", he said, showing his white teeth and nice deep dimples.

„Why else would I buy food, Rash", Dean answered, rubbing his belly which actually had started to hurt.

„You know, there are people who eat because they enjoy it", Rashid said, rolling his eyes. „Not only to reload their batteries in the last possible minute."

Dean shrugged his shoulders.

„There´s also people who enjoy being tied to their bedposts and whipped raw", he said, well aware the topic would make Rashid uncomfortable enough to shut up. They usually shared a few words and jokes when Dean came to restock his household, even longer chats (compared to Dean´s usual social interactions) from time to time. But Dean tried to keep the young shop owner at bay – he was a little too nosy and intrusive when it came to personal matters, too oversharing for Dean´s taste.

Jo had always suspected Rashid of having a crush on Dean, but Dean had only laughed her off.

„The guy´s married and has two little kids, Jo", he´d said.

„As if that´d proove anything", she´d huffed. „The way he looks at you...I bet he´s thinking of your lips when he´s kissing his wife."

„Oh, please", Dean had sighed, slightly annoyed with her not giving up on the topic.

„Not turning me on, Jo."

She´d positioned herself on his lap then, grabbing his hair and pulling his face close. „Well, then let´s find another way to do so", she´d murmured.

„No objections there", he´d answered, voice rough and growling, heat already building up in the lower regions of his body.

He´d never - ever - have admitted to her Rashid was part of his own nightly fantasies on a regular basis.

When the crime scene investigators finally had enough and wrapped everything up, night was already falling. The Christmas decorations went on up and down the quiet street, giving it a strange layer of normalcy in all the confusion and agitation the murder had caused. Sam stared at the Santa giving him a mean grin from the roof. The waving hand was mesmerizing.

„Sam!"

He jerked. „Yes?"

Novak emerged from the back of the house.

„Kevin Tran called. He´s free tonight and has agreed to meet us. Let´s roll."

Sam nodded. 150 miles, and it was past four already.

„Ok. Do we meet him at his house or the clinic?"

„He suggested a bar, actually, across the street from his apartment obviously. ` The Unicorn´ . I hope the name is not reflected in the decoration."

Sam raised his eybrows and grinned.

„Afraid of beauty overkill?"

„Something like that, yeah", Cas growled.

„Ok, I´ll find it. See you there."

Cas stopped dead in his walk. „Wait, what are you doing?"

„Going to my car?", Sam said. „If I leave it here, we´ll have to come all the way back to fetch it, that´s a huge detour."

„Nah, wait...I´ll arrange something. You don´t mind someone taking your car back, are you?"

„Not really..."

Cas nodded, and went down to the CSI truck. He talked to one of the guys, then gestured to Sam to come over.

„Gillespie here will take your car home. Where should he leave it?"

„Ah...` The Black Crown Motel´, Harrington Street – across from the Olympus Boxing Club?"

„I know where that is", Gillespie nodded and took Sam´s keys. „You need anything from your car?"

Ah. Well. „Yes..." Sam went back to fetch his bag and the briefcase. Novak already waited at his car. „Ready."

They drove in silence for about ten minutes. Cas had muted the radio to be able to hear the phone should anyone ring him. Or he wanted to talk. Who could tell.

Sam fidgeted with his bag. Cas threw him a glance after a while.

„Ask", he said simply.

Sam looked up and winced. „Am I that obvious?"

Cas chuckled. „I can practically read `Can I ask you something´ written in red neon letters on your impressive front. And as I dumped some of my personal shit on you today, I guess you´ve earned the right to ask a question in exchange. So shoot."

Sam grinned. „Impressive front, huh?"

„Oh, don´t get too flustered. And if that was your question, you´ve used your rain check poorly."

„It wasn´t a question! It was a – a statement!"

„Yeah, riiiight. You know there´s this thing called intonation, and when the voice goes up at the end of the phrase it means it´s a - "

„Ok, OK! You got me."

Cas´ smug grin was maddening. „It´s your lucky day, I´m in a generous mood. You´ve got another."

Sam rolled his eyes, but grinned.

„So, you - are you gay? Or bi?" He squinted at Cas, trying to read his face in the reflection of other car´s lights. „I´m OK with it, whatever `it´ is", he added hastily.

Cas shot him a quick glance.

„Not sure I can answer that one", he said, shrugging his shoulders. „But supposedly, more gay than bi. Maybe – 80/20?"

Sam stared at him for a moment incredulously. „You mean you´re not even sure? But when you had – when you - " God, this was awkward.

„You mean when I slept with men while I was married, to a woman, did I not know for sure I was totally and 100% gay?"

Sam was glad it was dark this time. „Er...something like that, yes."

Cas huffed. „Why, does it matter? If it sets your mind to rest, you´d be included in the 80%. No doubt there. Impressive front and all."

At that, Sam couldn´t help laughing. It was, he had to admit to himself, part relief, and part hopeful expectation.

„Well, as we seem to be sharing percentages here, I can assure you: you certainly fall into MY 100%."

Cas laughed. It was an open, happy laugh that suited him well. Sam felt the urge to make the other man laugh like that more often.

And just like that, they were back at the easy flirtation.

For once, a work related car ride turned out to be fun.

By the time Dean came home with his groceries, he was shivering. It had been warmer than usual this late autumn, and even now, so close to Christmas, it was relatively mild outside. Still uncomfortably chilly though when you had damp clothes sticking to your exhausted body.

Dean left his to-be-dinner on the counter and went for a quick shower. It turned out to be a rather long one in the end. The water, as hot as he could bear it without actually burning his skin off, was almost as good as a massage (almost); and when he emerged from the billowing clouds of steam fifteen minutes later, Dean was gleaming red like a cooked lobster, but more relaxed than he ´d expected after his pretty tough day. Rashid´s delicious grilled chicken curry´s scent had an equally soothing effect on his stomach (Dean sometimes wondered if he was dreaming of Rashid because of his food or because of his lean body and soulful dark eyes. Probably the combination of both). He had planned on preparing a salad to calm his bad conscience, but decided now that he was far too tired to bother with it. He fell unto the couch, switched on the sports canal on mute, and enjoyed two or three spoons of curry and a beer; and when he woke up around midnight, he was proud he´d managed to put away the still almost full container before he´d fallen asleep. He pulled himself from the sofa, switched off the TV and the lights, and dragged his feet to the bathroom; when his head hit the pillow five minutes later, sleep came back without delay for once. Unfortunately, so did the dreams.

Cas pulled at the kerb 50 meters from „The Unicorn" and killed the engine. The miles had flown by, and Sam had surprised himself by telling Cas more about his past than he had ever felt comfortable with - to anybody - so far. He had an easy enough way with his colleagues, the occasional evening out, a beer and a drink after solving a tricky case...but it never went beyond a certain invisible line. Sam was well liked by almost everyone, and was invited to more parties than he would ever be willing to attend – he had the ability to make everyone feel at ease, and an infectious laugh, and hosts knew about the priceless value of such virtues in a single guest. His coworkers might know one or two facts about his years before he joined the force – they were FBI, after all -; but he avoided answering seriously to any personal question beyond the most basic facts, like place of birth and zodiac sign. Usually, he chose ironic or cheerfully non-serious informations that made everyone laugh and leaded the conversation to other topics. Sam had become an expert in this field. It was maybe also the reason why he had such striking success in the interrogation rooms.

So now, Cas knew about Sam´s former carreer as college boy/hacker, his (mostly illegal) work for several NGOs who he provided information with (unasked and anonymously), and the case that had left him with the choice between working FOR the FBI from then on or go to jail for a long time. Sam had been 21 then, and wasn´t exactly fond of confined spaces (other than his Den of Geekyness), neither of pumped up cons with anger management issues. He had not regretted his decision ever since. The thrill of being part of an investigation made up for the tingling sensation he had always felt when illegally digging deep into classified, secret, or officially non-existent material.

Cas, despite the ironic/sarcastic smartass cop attitude he showed in public, was a patient and attentive listener, and Sam remembered (maybe too late) that he had read about his renowned success rate with interrogations too (victims, witnesses or suspects, didn´t matter).

Strangely enough, the knowledge of each other´s professional skills in getting out information from fellow human beings rather encouraged Sam to open up and show more trust than he was used to, than make him tread extra carefully around Castiel Novak. But maybe it was just the way the policeman was absolutely non-judgemental.

Sam stared at the bar´s illuminated sign. It sure showed a unicorn, in fact two of them (one to the left, one to the right of the huge, old-fashioned fonts); but no multicolored rainbows were anywhere to be seen. Actually, the sign could have been taken from a 1950s Sherlock Holmes movie. It represented classical creepiness.

They got out of the car and approached the entrance. Novak stopped right under the sign.

„Now I´m kinda disappointed. I expected silvery glitter, girlish colors and at least a half naked fairy riding the unicorn. This is just – old style. Heck, it´s Old World Style."

„Which makes me like Kevin Tran without ever having met him", Sam announced. „Although he might have chosen this bar because of it´s vicinity to his apartment. Which, I guess, makes him a practically thinking person, and I like him for that, too."

„Practical and old-fashioned, huh", Novak said teasingly. „your style, obviously." He huffed. „I can take a little less – normalcy. Life´s a bored bitch if you don´t spice it up now and then..."

„Whoa, watch your metaphors", Sam chuckled. „And by `spicing up´ you mean giving it a 6year old girl´s dream - kind of styling? Congratulations, Novak. You´ve just entered the `creepy child worshipper´- zone."

„Ah, see...everyone loves rainbow farting unicorns. I´m just mature enough to admit to it", Novak answered, shrugging his shoulders gracefully.

„Yeah...maturity is what comes in mind first, thinking of you", Sam huffed, and opened the door to the pub.

The pub´s interior held the sign´s promise: classy, old-fashioned wood-brass-and well used leather furnishing, completed with framed b&w pictures going back to the Thirties decorating the walls.

Sam scanned the room for Kevin Tran, having looked at a few photos of the guy already; but it seemed he wasn´t here yet. So he went over to one of the pretty private booths, just looking back for Novak before sliding unto the bench. The old leather creaked comfortingly. The sound, and touch, of the well aged material reminded him of his Grandfather´s chair. Maybe he imagined it, but he could swear even the smell was the same.

Novak slipped into the booth right after him, wiggling his eyebrows comically.

„I like it when you take control like that", he said casually, totally aware that his statement would make Sam blush furiously. Well, it did.

„You´ve no idea, man...me taking control? Not like this, Novak. Not. At. All."

Novak grinned, unabashed. „Well, I guess I´ve got something to look forward to, then...", he said dreamily, eyes fixed on Sam´s chest, as if already opening buttons there.

Again, Sam was surprised at the easy, flirtatious tone they´d found with each other. He realized he hadn´t had this much fun talking to anybody in a long time.

They had just ordered their beers, and shepherd´s pie (talking of Old World Style...), when the young man they were waiting for appeared in the entrance.

Sam and Novak both stared.

„What the...", Novak muttered.

Sam waved at the...young man. The VERY young man. In fact, from afar, Kevin looked like fifteen. At the most.

Sam got up and nudged Novak to slip out of the booth. The detective rolled his eyes, but complied. When Kevin stood in front of them, Sam noticed he was not a schoolboy anymore...now, he looked like a late bloomer freshly graduated from High School. Sam knew from the files the young man had to be 26.

He certainly had the air of an adult – sure of himself, polite, and used to dealing with cops or authorities, due to his current working place. He had the short, delicate body of his mother, but Sam noticed the hidden muscles under the loose clothes. The young man´s elegant, controlled movements spoke of some serious exercise program.

„Mr. Tran? I´m Agent Campbell, and this is Detective Novak. Thank you for seeing us at such short notice."

They shook hands, and the young doctor smiled, which took another five years off his youthful face.

„Oh, you´re welcome, agent...and it´s Kevin, please."

They settled down into the booth again, their beers arrived together with the food – Kevin ordering some, too – and they passed the time while they were eating with bringing Tran up to speed with their case. He listened intently while eating, asking a question now and then; and Sam was pleased to find exactly the intelligent, quick mind in the young man he´d silently hoped for after reading his impressive files.

„It was a really weird thing back then", Kevin said quietly. „The investigation, as short as it was going on, brought out nothing consistent...no personal grudges, no private ..er..dirty laundry that might have leaded to a murder or suicide...nor financial problems. I couldn´t help the feeling it had to do with the man´s job before he became head of Medical Supplies. He obviously took on this job because of his diabetes. Before – well, it was all VERY top secret and classified and what not. Shady. And the guy was...well, creepy. I know you could say that about many older members of the military, but Walker– he gave me goosebumps. On his friendliest days."

„Did you have to work together with him a lot?", Novak asked, his blue eyes wake and focused. No sign of tiredness in them now, Sam noticed.

„No, thank God – only the obligatory meetings of all medical staff, and the occasional run- ins at general examination. To tell you the truth, I was glad I didn´t work directly under him. He was...he seemed..." The young man hesitated.

„He seemed?", Sam assisted.

Kevin blushed a little, then shrugged his shoulders.

„If it didn´t sound so...like a Steven King novel, I´d say he was evil."

_Sometimes, he decided to give them some time._

_Time to make amendments. Time to apologize. Time to change._

_He watched them, saw them live their lives, unaware of the piercing eyes on them. It was like watching ants during his childhood: following their streets, seeing their efforts to build, to create, to support, to feed. Testing their dedication by creating obstacles, like little stones, or a piece of garlic. _

_The ants never failed him._

_His human test objects did. So far, all of them._

_He gave them time to change, but they didn´t. They felt safe. They didn´t regret._

_So – he made them._

„Evil."

„I know..."

„Have you ever met someone you´d call evil? I mean, not only calling them evil, but - meaning it?"

Novak seemed to consider the question, staring through the windshield with squinted eyes.

„My ex-wife´s lawyer sure comes close...", he said. „I always suspected him of secretely collecting hair and blood from his clients´ opponents and using it for some serious voodoo magic, or witchcraft, or dealing their souls to the devil. The guy had a 100% success rate. Can´t be natural, can it?"

Sam huffed. „I guess he just took only the cases he was sure to win...and had some heavy cavallery doing the dirty work...hackers, private investigators...it´s the Brave New World, Cas. You don´t need voodoo to unearth the last dirty secret of every Jack and Jill. Although it´s still good for scaring people..."

He looked over at the detective. „But, seriously – I meant it. Evil? I sure met some people coming close...jeez, there was this physical education teacher in 7th grade..." Sam shuddered. „In the end, he was just a bitter, lonely alcoholic, using the terror he put into the kids as a twisted means to keep a last ounce of self-esteem alive. Wrong on many levels, but evil...no."

Cas glanced over for a moment. „And how exactly did you find that out?"

Sam grinned. „It´s the modern times, Cas...electronic trails everywhere. Plus, there´s always the trash to comb if you want valid information on someone..."

Cas laughed. „Man, you had this FBI carreer coming for a long time then..."

Sam shrugged. „With some detours...yes, maybe you´re right. I always liked digging..solving riddles...and helping others, I guess."

Cas was quiet for a minute.

„So – you solved the evil teacher problem?"

„I...made him stop treating the kids like his personal punching balls. Yes."

„And how on earth did you manage to do that – you were, what, 12?"

Sam grinned. „13. And ..er...I´ll not say anything that could be used against me in a court of law, detective..."

At which Cas laughed. „Ok, Ok,...keep your secret, Agent ..."

Dean sat up in his bed. A scream. Someone had been screaming...

He was drenched in sweat, t-shirt sticking to his chest, and he realized he was desperately gasping for air. Another nightmare, and like so many times before, he´d woken up from his own horrified screams.

Above all, it was annoying. You´d think one got used to it...seriously, how many times could you have the same dream, and still be scared to death by seeing...feeling..the unspeakable? Waking up each and every time shaking, and with a chilling coldness filling his insides... Well, it had gotten better, hadn´t it...he didn´t throw up any more, like in the beginning. That had been embarrassing...especially on the few occasions when Jo had spent the night...he´d managed to hide it as good as possible, or tried not to sleep at all, just in case...he´d never told her the true reason why he didn´t want her to stay over more often, or why he always left her appartment before he could possibly fall asleep. Of course she´d sensed something was wrong...had asked, begged him to tell her...but he couldn´t. He just...couldn´t. There were things...things that were so...excruciatingly painful to even think of, let alone speak out loud – no.

She´d pestered him about seeing the psychologist again, „You need help, Dean...". God, how often had he heard that one..."Please, Dean, do it for me...for us..."

She didn´t know. There was nothing the psychologist could do for him, as good as she might be.

There were things...memories... nobody could take off your shoulders. Or make them bearable, manageable. Nothing to take away the guilt. Nothing to fill the void.

Because nothing would change the past.

„So – see you tomorrow?"

Sam bent down to the open window, propping himself against the car´s roof with his hands.

„9 am? I´ll bring breakfast."

„Sounds great...be careful not to make it too healthy tho. I could get sick from the sudden change."

„Yeah, I bet you could...I´ll save the vitamins for myself then."

Cas grinned up at him, shadows deepening the cleft in his chin. Without thinking, Sam reached down and traced it with his thumb. And stopped dead when he realized what he was doing.

„Sorry, I – er – sorry. I wasn´t thinking." He straightened up and stepped back, feeling warmth spread over his cheeks.

The detective´s eyes were on him, deprived of their stunning color in the dark. Sam could tell the other man was amused.

„Sometimes it´s better not to overthink things", he said. There was a smile in his voice.

„See ya, Agent Campbell."

Sam raised his hand feebly, and watched the car drive away.

Dammit. He had to be more careful. This was work...his job.

_Professionalism means focus, focus, focus, Samuel. You owe that to whoever you are working for. But most of all, you owe it to yourself. _Yeah. I hear ya, Granddad.

Sam sighed, and turned around to his motel room´s entrance. The technician...Gillespie...had parked he car nearby in the parking lot. He´d fetch the keys from the motel clerk in the morning...all of a sudden, he felt the long hours weigh on his body heavily.

Bed. God, he needed a bed right now.

Blue eyes laughed at him out of the shadows when he fell asleep twenty minutes later.

_Those who seemed worth the try got a warning._

_Only one._

_He´d selected only three so far. All three had seemed unbothered – no, not unbothered._

_But not bothered enough._

_He had given them more time. Nothing._

_So he´d punished them just like the others._

The hot water soothed the chill inside him a little, and eased the pain that had returned to his shoulders. Dean let the jet massage his skull as long as he could stand it, then he turned off the water. He enjoyed the hot steam for a few more moments, then stepped out into the bathroom, gripping for the towel. It was still damp from the last shower, and felt cold on his skin. He shivered.

He slipped into a pair of sweatpants and a fresh shirt, and zipped his favorite hoodie up to his throat. The warmth of the shower seemed already gone of his body again ...something cold sat in his bones, something hot water, or a turned on heating, couldn´t drive away. He padded into the kitchen and set up tea, then went over to the couch in his living room and fell into it, waiting for the water to boil. 4am. He knew it was useless to go back to bed now.

The shrill whistling sound of the kettle startled him out of the half sleep he´d fallen into ... images of bloody skin under too bright lights following him back to the kitchen, then dissolving and melting into the mass he´d shoved back somewhere deep inside his memory. Closed and sealed, secured by rows and rows of yellow tape...safety line, do not cross!

Only the one picture stayed, as always. The one he wanted to forget the most. It surfaced each time he watched his own hands ... making tea, paying at the grocery store, clipping his finger nails. Caressing someone else´s skin.

Bloody hands, hovering over a body.

His own hands.

Sam woke up long before the alarm was due. It was still dark outside, his watch said 04.45 .

Jesus. He felt a familiar pounding at the back of his head. Not now. He needed rest, and he needed his brain for this case...especially with a distraction at his side he knew he wouldn´t be able to shut out.

Detective Novak...Cas. Sam closed his eyes. What would it feel like to have those slender, feminine hands wander over his face...his chest...to feel that mouth touch his stomach, the trail of dark hair leading down to his crotch...lips picking at the nest of curly hair, finding the smooth skin of his cock... that tongue licking at the tip, just ghosting over the slit...

Sam moaned, and let his hands and fingers do what he wished other hands would be doing ... stroking, and squeezing, and pushing his hips up against his own fist, until the relief finally came, to the vivid image of a pair of blue eyes in a laughing, panting face right above his own.

Cas Novak threw his keys into the old cigar box („Romeo y Julietta"). It landed right on the Romeo figure (a rather dumb looking young man in light blue tights, dangling from Julietta´s balcony). His shield and gun followed...of course, the gun should go into the safe inside his wardrobe. Protocol. Later...

He stood in front of the mirror above the cabinet in his narrow hall (it really was more a walk-through cupboard) and looked at his reflection. Tired eyes, shadows beneath them. Well, what would you expect after ... more than eight hours in the car. He touched his chin, where Agent Campbell´s thumb had caressed his skin and stubble... and shivered. Interesting. Unforeseen, and very inappropriate in the eyes of his superiors („you keep things between you and your partner professional, and professional only", first day at police academy). But definitely interesting, and very...VERY teasing. He looked straight into his eyes in the mirror, thinking of the young, eager, and highly skilled FBI agent...and saw the tired shadows gone, replaced by a spark that hadn´t been there for months.

Want.

He wondered what other skills his current partner might have to discover.

_Although it took him only a few nights to find out his prey´s routines – people were far more predictable as they thought - , he usually surveyed them for at least a month before he striked. Sometimes, if they lived in the same area, he handled two or three at the same time; sometimes he had one exclusive target he focused on. He never went into action before being absolutely sure not to be interrupted, or of having a plan B in case anything didn´t go according to his plan. He was meticulous, methodical, and flawlessly prepared. Criminals were caught every day for their sloppiness. He´d killed 14 so far, and the police and FBI had no clue what was going on. _

_Should he ever be caught, it would be because he wanted to – because he finally made them see. Understand._

_It wouldn´t be long until then. He had a few more jobs to do._

_Then he would finally be able to rest._

**Day 3 **

He finished his tea, staring at the TV screen with bleary eyes. Five lionesses were circling a herd of peacefully grazing zebras somewhere in Africa. The tea hadn´t brought the warmth he was looking for, but then he´d known that from the start, hadn´t he...

Dean got up, slipped into his biker boots, and went for his old leather jacket. The garage was pretty cold already, it would take the old electric heater some time to get the temperature up.

He went through the back door into the second garage at the back of the house. The previous owner had built it to have a room for his illegal spirits distillery, but had mostly filled it with half broken stuff he probably meant to fix and sell later. Dean had thrown out all the trash, and made room for his car. His „4 wheels therapist", as Jo had put it. Well, she wasn´t entirely wrong there...working on the old Chevrolet always gave him a sense of peace. He could repair, clean, bathe motor parts in oil, sand and paint the frame, polish the chrome parts until they gleamed – and think of nothing but the work he was doing in that very moment. It made the nightmares fade into the background, and it let him cover the memories with a blanket of present impressions...the smell of grease and paint, the sense of different kinds of metal surfaces under his fingers, the beauty of a perfectly designed outline.

He caressed the black chassis. When he´d found the Impala years ago amidst the chaotic collection of rusty cars of a car sales and repair in the middle of nowhere, it had stirred something in him – like a memory that lingered just under the surface of your consciousness, but stayed out of reach, slipping away the moment you wanted to catch it...and he´d bought it, ignoring the owner´s (astonishingly honest) warnings the car might be beyond repairing already. Dean couldn´t help the impression the gruffy old man didn´t want to sell him the car...but then he had looked into Dean´s determined face for a while, nodding knowingly after a few minutes, and had given him the battered beauty for a ridculously low price.

„Take good care of her", was all he´d said. „She deserves it."

And he had. Ever since.

This was his Baby...and some day, she would be on the road again, where she belonged. He´d fix her, and set her free.

He switched on the heating, turned on the old radio on one of the shelves, opened the hood, and started working.

Files were piled up on the round table in Sam´s motel room. After his early wake up (and the subsequent hot mind-sex with detective Novak), he´d got up and showered; and decided to use the time to go over the details again.

Which was frustratingly tiresome, and excitingly interesting at the same time. This killer they were hunting – he had to be a specialist skilled in many fields. Who had those kinds of abilities, and used them only to murder and destroy! Sam caught himself thinking it was a huge waste of talent...

Well, that would be the least of their problems. The biggest one was the lack of evidence – no fibres, no hair, no blood, not one fingerprint anywhere. And the killing methods became increasingly harder to trace –from using a garotte, leaving the first victim with a bloody, opened throat, to the last, nearly invisible injection of some poison...there was a message hidden in it, Sam was sure of that. The only question was – what did the killer want to tell them (other than, as Novak had put it, showing them the middle finger).

There was something deep and dark hidden behind these murders, Sam was absolutely positive about that; and as soon as they found the link between the victims, any link at all, they´d understand it.

So far, the links were...meagre excuses.

They were all men. Most of them were married and had kids, but not all of them; their age varied from 28 to 63; most were white, but again, two were African

American, one Asian; their professions ranged from caretaker at an elementary school to the owner of a successful business company, with practically everything possible in between.

Sam rubbed his eyes.

The case was a mystery. The killer was a mystery. The motive was a mystery.

A hell of a lot of mysteries to solve...maybe they should follow the Stephen King track Kevin Tran had mentioned, and start looking for a witch or a voodoo priest.

He opened the next folder – murder number 7 – and started to read.

_After the tenth murder, he had started to wonder how the authorities didn´t find out about the connection between the victims. But then it had taken them four murders alone to notice a pattern (three corpses without testicles in one month obviously weren´t enough). He began to feel like throwing them a bone before he reached the last name on his list ... a little teaser maybe ... _

_No. He was a hunter. If they couldn´t trace him, their loss. He would leave his final message, and vanish. If they got him, he´d accept the consequences. It was dangerous to become too cocky...too sure of his success. And he needed to finish his job, no use risking the whole operation for a moment´s thrill of giving the police the runaround._

_A few more to go._

_He´d stick to the plan...it was infallible._

When the 7am news signation jingled down from the radio, Dean straightened up, rubbing his back. Time to get ready for work then. He looked at the motor parts he´d lined up on the wooden counter. A few more sessions, maybe only one, and he´d be able to put them together and build them in again – and he was one huge step closer to finally hearing the sound – the VOICE - of the engine – a day he was looking for with the excitement of a five years old waiting for Christmas Morning. Not that his experience with Christmas Mornings was the kind of happy memory in softened colors, bells ringing and Frank Sinatra crooning „White Christmas" on the radio while a mom in a flowery apron put freshly baked cookies on the living room table. But Dean had this image of a perfect Christmas Morning in his head – from some annoying movie maybe – and he gathered getting his beloved car on the road, feeling the 155 BHP roar under the hood, had to be just like that. A perfect morning, everything drenched in a dazzling feeling of happiness.

He went for another shower (jeez, if nothing else, the electricity bill would kill him this month), skipped breakfast – too late for that – and was on the bike twenty minutes later.

Castiel Novak, despite his somewhat messy private life and sometimes disturbingly crazy way of approaching problems, was acknowledged for his professional skills. He had been able to solve cases other detectives had given up on; got witnesses or purps to remember and confess things no one else would have gotten out of them; and had this general way of biting himself through tough cases as if he was guided, or driven, by some higher force. Which made him all the more creepy for his colleagues, but got work done anyone else failed to complete.

So, when he showed up in the police building where the make-shift „task force serial killer" – headquarters had been set up (a rather shabby conference room), he got a few appreciating nods, and even a hand raised in a greeting gesture by the superior sitting in the glass-paned office at the far end of the floor.

Right after his divorce, it hadn´t been like that for a while; they´d put him in some well hidden archive for a few weeks „to let the dust settle down again"; but the serial killer (fondly nicknamed „Billy Balls" already, ugh) had changed that pretty fast. He´d been assigned the cases, and done a fairly good job so far, which had the authorities (and, on their pressure, the media) turn a blind eye on his private affairs.

Of course, even he hadn´t been able to unearth the killer so far. Or his motive. Or any concrete lead. The press, still held down by the Police Commisioner so far, started to paw the ground (and they didn´t even know about all of the cases...). Police needed a success. Rather sooner than later.

Cas hung his Columbo-style trench coat (gift form his old precinct when he was promoted detective) on the hook on the wall, and went over to the windows looking at the back wall of the building across the parking lot. It showed faded traces of an old washing powder commercial, giving the scene an air of „good old times".

He turned when the door opened, and someone was saying, „Yes, it is...thank you so much, that´s really kind of you...thank you. Awesome."

He couldn´t help smiling when he saw the latest addition to the team, the giant FBI wonderboy, grab the hand of a very flustered, very red faced female police officer with both his hands, and shake it as if she´d just saved him from being lost or robbed. She had, he noticed, helped him carry in „breakfast". Which consisted of a variety of bags obviously well filled, two huge cups of coffe-to-go, two bottles of orange juice plus plastic cups, and a huge box showing the name of the best donut bakery in the district. Wow. Agent Campbell had gone to some length to „bring breakfast", as he had put it the evening before.

„Please, take the donuts out to your colleagues, will you, Officer Monroe? They are ...er..my bribe, actually...to make you accept me in your tribe..." It could have been awkward, or embarrassing, but together with the blush on the huge man´s face, and the rueful, boyish grin (adorable dimples showing, Cas noticed), it was very endearing. Officer Monroe obviously thought so too, blushing even more, and she saved herself by grabbing the box, stammering something undistinguishable, and fled the room.

„Awesome tactics", Cas remarked drily. „Does it work that brilliantly everywhere?"

Sam shot him a hurt glance from under his lashes, wriggling his broad shoulders out of his jacket. „I´m offended at your insinuation", he said, voice broken, a hand pressed to his chest.

Cas laughed. „I bet you are..."

He wandered over to the desk where the bags had been stowed, and started peeping into them.

„Hmmm...I see you love a hearty meal in the morning", he commented. „I must say I like that...you seem to be a man after my heart after all.."

Now, THAT blush was very genuine, if he had any skills in reading people. And everyone said he did, so...

Sam couldn´t help himself...he just had to look at Detective Novak now and then...Ok, as often as possible. They had been going over the case murder by murder, and Sam was glad he had re-read the files in the morning; ticked off the question marks Sam had put on the pages here and there; Cas running to boxes, folders, and the huge piles of paperwork whenever something came up...Sam noticed the Detective had a fairly good idea where to find everything...anything. He seemed to have a terrabite memory card inside his head.

And he looked gorgeous.

Plus he had exactly the sense of humor Sam had learned to hide because no one ever got his jokes and references, and it had made him look weird – well, even more than usual.

If he touched Cas maybe more often than he would any other partner on a job – just brushing his thigh with his own, padding his shoulder, letting their fingers touch – the other man didn´t comment on it, but showed this reserved, almost hidden smile all the time that made his eyes sparkle adorably.

After three hours, they had a break and finished the breakfast (they hadn´t even managed to eat half of it in the morning), Cas talking one of the officers into giving them two bottles of beer.

Cas stared at the pastrami on the well filled bagel in his hand.

„We should go see some expert on that surgical cut Dr. Tran mentioned", he said slowly.

„If it is really a technique used in the military, we could finally have the lead we so dearly need..."

Sam nodded. „Absolutely. So – any military hospital nearby? Or are we looking for a surgeon with military background?"

„No base here, buddy...just do your magic with the computer, you should come up with someone, right? It´s a big city, there has to be a surgeon with battle scars somewhere..."

Sam wiped his fingers on a napkin, and sat down in front of his laptop again.

Sure enough, after five minutes a name popped up.

„Got one!", he called over his shoulder to Cas, who was digging deep into a box somewhere at the back of the room.

„Yeah? Which hospital!"

Sam looked at the screen. „Er...Perry Memorial?"

Cas surfaced out of the boxes´ depths, his hair a heavenly mess.

He whistled silently. „The good doctor must be dedicated. I hear they make them slave over there even more than usual...and for less money."

„An idealist...hm."

Sam looked at the enlarged picture on his screen, mesmerized.

Green eyes looked back at him. Disturbingly green... and ... wow.

„Sam? The name?"

Sam jerked. „Er...sorry?"

Cas came over, huffing. „You in a post prandial coma? I asked for the doctor´s name."

Sam blushed. „Sorry, I ...er...Winchester. Dean Winchester. General surgeon, in the military for...five years. Afghanistan, Iraque."

„Seems like a tough guy then...", Cas said, coming up behind Sam. „So let´s have a look at – wow." The detective whistled silently.

Sam bit his lower lip.

Yeah. WOW pretty much nailed it.

Dean took in the scent of the coffee with closed eyes. Oh, the little pleasures in life.

„You look like a man stranded on a remote island for years getting his first treat after being rescued", someone said at his side.

He opened his eyes.

„Maybe I feel like one, too..", he said, grinning.

„You sure have that look...", Garth said. „I don´t like those shadows under your eyes, my friend. You should take the time to eat. It´s crucial in our line of work!"

Dean huffed. „Says the walking stick standing beside me", he said. „I´m fine, Garth. Just tired, is all."

„We all are tired all the time. Doesn´t mean we starve ourselves to death. I´m serious, man", he added, when Dean opened his mouth to protest. „You´ve lost so much weight it already shows. And you know damn well I look like I do because of a childhood illness, so don´t turn the conversation."

Dean sighed. He liked Garth, as someone coming close to a friend, and appreciated him as a brilliant and doctor. He could be a little...overwhelming sometimes, at least for Dean´s standards, which, he´d found out, were probably not the usual ones when it came to social contact.

He noticed the other man´s piercing look.

„I´m worried about you, Dean. Ever since you broke up with Jo, you´re - "

„It has nothing to do with Jo!"

Dean was surprised by the vehemence in his own voice.

Garth stared at him, scrutinizing his face. Dean remembered the anesthesist also had a degree in psychology. Dammit.

„And stop looking at me like – like I´m some monkey in a cage", he murmured, suppressing the angry undertone as good as he could.

Garth stepped closer and put his hand on Dean´s shoulder, but quickly took it away when Dean flinched.

„Sorry, Dean ... professional habit. I apologize. But I´m not sure I can agree with you. As long as you were with Jo, you looked...healthier. Happier. I really thought you two..." his voice trailed off.

Dean huffed again. „What – would get married on a sandy beach, the sun setting behind us kissing, white doves circling our heads? A bunch of kids and barbecue in the back yard? The whole happily ever after thing?" He laughed, but it was a merriless sound. „Believe me, not my dream. Not my fate. So don´t tell me I should go and ... win her back or something. Because she made it pretty clear she doesn´t want me anywhere near herself anymore. Ever. Again. So, obviously it didn´t work on both our sides."

Garth didn´t answer, just looked at Dean in his rather disturbing way (he just couldn´t help it, Dean thought).

Dean cursed himself for the outburst. It was the best way to give away too much, to reveal exactly the things he wanted to keep well hidden, especially to an attentive and schooled professional like Garth. Jesus. He knew why he hated socializing, didn´t he...it meant being cautious all the time, like walking on your toes for hours. It was even harder when alcohol was involved, like on the few social events the hospital hosted. Dean had taken on the habit of drinking nothing at all in public, giving the impression of being an anti-alcoholic, and used to make up for it at home when no one would turn his every word in their mouths.

„So, what are your dreams then?"

He startled. „What?"

„If a white fence apple pie life is not what you are dreaming about, what is? I´m really curious, Dean."

Dean suppresses the sigh this time. There you had it...he´d opened the lid just a little bit, and the questions started.

„Should I ever find out, I´ll tell you." It sounded rather gruff, and was meant to.

Garth got the hint. He raised his hands in defense. „It´s Ok, you don´t have to tell me, Dean. But if you ever need someone to..talk...you know I´m here, right?"

„I know."

He crawled back into the relative safety of his shell, blocking out as much as he could. It was the only way he knew to hold it together.

Garth looked at him for some more moments, then sighed, padded his shoulder briefly (Dean managed NOT to flinch this time), and waved his good bye.

„Eat!", he said, turning back after a few steps. „And I mean, food – not a chocolate bar from the machine!"

Dean stared at the whip-thin figure vanishing into one of the rooms at the end of the floor. Yeah. He should eat something eventually. On the other hand, he´d had the coffee, and there was still time for a cigarette.

He went to the elevator and took the next one down to the locker room.

_Being a hunter often meant putting human needs aside. He´d learned that early on, sitting in the shrubbery motionless for hours, waiting for a deer to enter exactly the spot for the perfect shot. It had come in handy later, when he was trained to shoot other targets. He knew hunger, thirst, sleep, even the urge to relief your bladder, could be suppressed like any less primary desire._

_It had made him good at what he did._

_It made him deadly perfect now._

„So, do we call him?"

„Dr. Winchester?"

„No, Santa Claus. Of course Dr. Winchester."

Cas stared at the picture on the screen once more. „Hells yes. We have to meet him, haven´t we...and if he´s a failure as far as our questions are concerned, we still have the pleasure of finding out if this picture is actually photshopped. Which I´m very much inclined to believe. I mean – look at those eyes – this green can´t be real!"

Sam laughed. „Come on...who photoshops their pic for an official site, or document... It´s even illegal."

It was Cas´ turn to laugh. „As if that would stop anyone...", he said. „But I´m definitely intrigued by the good doctor here. Army background, obviously idealistic, and a big void on the personal data part. I definitely want to check the guy out. And it has absolutley nothing to do with his deliciously rough&ragged poster boy looks. Nothing at all..."

Sam knew the detective was joking, but felt a sting of jealousy nevertheless. It didn´t matter that he himself had felt exactly the same attraction as soon as he´d laid eyes on Dr. Dean Winchester´s picture. It hadn´t even been the striking beauty of the man that had caught his attention (and his face was ...unbelievably perfect)...it was that hidden emotion in the green eyes...something between a deep sadness, suppressed anger, and ... a tiredness that went beyond the physical need for sleep. More like...pain. A pain so old, and deep, it left only tired emptiness.

They called the hospital, only to be told that „Dr. Winchester will be operating all afternoon, but you could probably catch him at..er...between 5 and 5.15? Would that be convenient? Ok, then I´ll leave him a message. I´ll try to get it to him personally as well, but he usually is rather busy and hard to catch..."

„What did I tell you", Cas murmured. „Slaves. They are slaves over there. And get only few of the shiny prestige patients bringing in the press and media and money donations."

Sam nodded. He´d checked out the hospital for the last quarter of an hour.

As they had a few more hours to pass until then, they kept sifting the material, looking for new angles. Sam tried hard not to view the evidence with an eventual military background of the killer in mind – and found it quite difficult to stay neutral, now that they – hopefully – had a lead.

At half past three, their eyes were burning, backs aching, and Sam had definitely enough from the ugly room, the bad air, and the dust that made his eyes water.

„Let´s get out of here", he yawned, stretching his arms and back.

„Coffee?"

„Tea would be nice."

„You´re so gay."

„So are you."

„Well, in my choice of beverage, I´m totally straight. Tea is the hot water of the snobs."

Sam snorted. „Saying that makes YOU the snob here."

Cas rolled his eyes.

„So, are we going now, or will we still be smartassing around until midnight? Because I see this conversation drag on and on, neither of us ever letting the other have the last word..."

„Yeah, let´s go – and „smartassing" isn´t even a word."

„It is, as I´ve just invented it. I am spoken, therefore I am. Descartes be my witness."

„So, are we descarting now..."

At that, Cas didn´t respond, but laughed out loud.

„Not bad, Campbell, not bad...I think I really start to like you..."

Sam blushed, and quickly went to fetch their jacket and coat to hide it.

Yeah. He really started to like Detective Novak, too.

Maybe yesterday´s smokes hadn´t been such a good idea after all. Because now his body wanted more. And more often. On the other hand... what was the point... Jake was right. Why shouldn´t he enjoy a smoke, for God´s sake.

So he stood on the roof again, staring into the low clouds that seemed to touch the skyscrapers, even the hospital building. Dark fog swallowed part of the city, giving it an eery, mystic air.

Dean sucked in the smoke of his second cigarette with closed eyes when his pager went off. He frowned. His next – last – surgery wasn´t due before ...he looked at his watch. In fifteen minutes. He had ten more minutes before he´d have to go into sanitizing again.

Well, there were always accidents...He stubbed out the rest of his smoke and sighed, taking out a chewing gum.

Stepping out of the elevator down in general surgery, he saw two men waiting in front of Ava, the nurse on duty. When she spotted him, she waved, and pointed the two guys in his direction. They turned in unison, and Dean´s first thought was...police.

He´d seen enough members of the force in his childhood and youth to be able to recognize them...even from afar. When they started to walk towards him, he noticed they were both exceptionally good looking, which was not necessarily a job requirement in policemen (only in TV shows and movies); that one of them, the younger one, was really tall; and that they shared a short glance and moved in a way together that made him wonder if they were a couple. Which would be even less usual within he police force, in spite of legalization and everything. Interesting.

He slowed down, stopped at the waiting area with the sagging couch, and let them walk down the long corridor.

„I´m sorry, detective, he was in the operation room just ten minutes ago, but he seems to have vanished into thin air. He can´t be long though – his next surgery is in...er...20 minutes?"

Cas nodded, thanked the nurse behind the counter – she had a pretty, heart shaped face, and very pale skin that made her look delicate and fragile. Like the creepy porcellaine doll his ex-wife had sat on a shelf in their bedroom.

He turned back to Sam, who was inspecting the art on the corridor´s wall (not the usual flowers, but rather interesting abstract paintings in blazing colors, he noticed).

„Dr. Winchester gave us the slip", he said. „we´ll have to wait..."

„Let´s be straight and manly and have a hospital coffee then? What? Ouch!"

Sam rubbed his ribs. Cas grinned. „Sometimes word just don´t cut it", he said, an angelic expression on his face.

Sam glared at him. „Do you sharpen those elbows when you get out of bed in he morning? It feels like being poked by a stick, man."

„Guess you´ll have to find that out all by yourself, wonderboy...", the detective said, dreamily staring at the painting in front of them. „You think those pics are some psychological test? Like that Rohrschach-thing?"

Find out by himself...Sam swallowed. Should he...dammit, he wanted to get on with things here. The flirting was fun and all, but...

What the hell, right!

He bent down to his partner, and murmured into his ear, voice a little rough.

„Did you – did you just invite me into your bedroom, detective Novak?"

Ha. He had seen it. The detective had visibly shivered. Sam grinned.

„I don´t know...did I? I guess we´ll have to ask the psychic painting..."

Sam chuckled. „So, what do you see, detective? Just let the words flow, don´t think about it, just look and talk..."

Novak tilted his head and stared at the bright red, blue, yellow, and orange patches of paint on the canvas.

„I see ...entangled bodies in an act of hot, violent sex. Definitely sex. Oh, wait, no – no. I was wrong. It is... I can see it clearly now. It is a set of Lego stones surrounded by an orange snake. Yes. That´s it. Lego stones."

Sam laughed. „Lego stones. Seriously...when all I can see is a blue donkey carrying three very colorful ..er...thingies..."

Cas shook his head mournfully. „A donkey, really...oh my, you are doomed, Agent Campbell. You know what a donkey means in the Unreadable Art–Test, don´t you..."

„Sadly, I don´t. Must have missed that lesson in criminal psychology..."

Cas sighed dramatically. „Well, that´s a shame...donkeys – especially blue ones – mean you´ll have to start something new and carry on with it stubbornly, no matter the consequences. It´s all proved and published..."

„Is that so..." Sam could hardly restrain himself from touching the other man´s hair...the way it curled a little at his neck was just so...

He smiled feebly at Novak, who was shamelessly grinning back.

Then he looked at the big watch on the wall above the pretty nurse at her desk.

„Dammit, if Winchester has his next surgery in 10 minutes, we won´t gonna get to talk to him if he doesn´t turn up soon."

Cas followed his gaze. „Right..."

He approached the nurse again, Sam in his wake. She looked up at them, making a desperate face.

„I´m sorry, detectives...usually he´s at the coffee dispenser in his breaks, but...well, I could still page him..." she seemed a little hesitant.

Sam leant down on the counter and gave her his best smile. He heard a suppressed chuckle behind his back.

„That would be really great, er...Ava."

She couldn´t help but smile back at him – and Sam gave something behind him, probably a male shin, a good punch with his heel (the silent chuckling stopped).

„Yeah, I´ll – I´ll page him then... It´s reserved for emergencies only, you know, but..."

„Oh, believe me, Ava, this is a matter of life and death, too. We really DO need Dr. Winchester´s expertise as fast as possible..."

She nodded, and pressed a few keys on her computer.

„Done. He should be here in a sec."

„Thank you..."

They still lingered at the counter when the nurse´s face lit up.

„There he is! At the elevator...Dr. Winchester? Down the corridor." She waved at somebody, blushing slightly, Sam noticed.

He smiled at her once more, and turned into the direction she had looked into.

A figure in blue scrubs emerged from the elevator. Tall, broad shoulders, light brown hair cut short at the neck, almost military style. Cas smiled. Most Ex-military men he knew either kept the hairstyle or did a 180 and sported rather long manes. Would be worth a psychological examination maybe. Dr. Winchester did seem to hold no grudges against his time in the army, if you wanted to follow your average popular psychology test in any magazine. It did look good on him though. Very good indeed. So it could always just be a choice of fashion.

The doctor went in the direction of the counter, and Cas noticed his rather distinct bowlegs. A very endearing flaw...the man walked with the swagger of a cowboy, you could easily picture him riding a horse into the sunset, open range in glowing colors as far as your eyes could see surrounding him...

They started walking towards him, and Cas caught the tiny moment of hesitation when the doctor realized they were the reason he´d been called – hesitation, and...something else, like...recognition. He could tell the doctor knew they were policemen. Out of past experiences?

He exchanged a look with Campell. His colleague raised his eyebrows.

„Ten dollars he´s real", he whispered.

„Bet´s on", Cas answered, although he was already pretty sure there was no photoshop involved in Dr. Winchester´s flawless picture.

The doctor waited for them at the niche where a sofa and chairs were crammed together to form a waiting area, a sad plant hanging its dusty leaves. One of the paintings, a huge one, was hung on the wall at the back, cheering the ensemle up noticably. Dr. Winchester leaned against the wall, his arms crossed. Cas wondered what he was protecting by the defensive gesture.

No photoshop.

That much was clear as soon as they reached the man. Rather the opposite – the photo they´d looked at on Sam´s laptop screen didn´t do Dr. Winchester justice. While on the photo he´d been clean shaven, he sported a short scruff now; which, Cas had to admitt, only added to the rough charme of a face that was almost too pretty.

„Dr. Winchester?"

He nodded, pushing himself off the wall.

„Yes?"

A deep voice. Rough. Polite, but reserved. Cas was sure the man had some history with the police...or was it his time in the military? Authority issues?

Cas fished the shield from his pocket and saw Campbell do the same at his side.

„Dr. Winchester, I´m Detective Novak, and this is Agent Sam Campbell from the FBI. We are here on behalf of a series of murder cases. It´s – er – we would like to ask if you could give us a professional opinion on a few...er...details."

The doctor didn´t just glance at their documents like 95% of people. He leant forward and studied them, looking from the pictures to their faces and back. Cas had the distinct impression he used it as a diversionary manoevre to memorize their identification numbers. The man grew more interesting by the minute.

„OK?"

Well. He didn´t seem the talkative type, that much was clear. After the easy chatting with Agent Campbell, the surgeon´s monosyllabic style was quite a contrast.

The doctor watched them, attentively, his face also a polite but guarded mask.

Cas sensed Campbell stir, but the agent seemed to have lost his speech, so he went on.

„There has been a series of murders in and around the city, and they all seem to be the work of one person. The killer left kind of a mark, a sign on each body, and we could need your view on it."

Winchester looked interested. He finally lowered his arms, then took a wristwatch out of his pocket and glanced at it.

„I have to go into surgery in 5 minutes", he said. „But it is only a short routine thing..if you can wait for another... 30, 35 minutes, I am free afterwards. We can meet at the bar across the street... Doherty´s. They have a separate room..."

He looked at Cas, then at Sam, eyebrows raised questioningly. A well organized man, Cas thought. Didn´t waste time with useless words, and a quick thinker. A private room sure was an advantage.

He stared into those green eyes – ridiculously green, really – and nodded. „That would be great, doctor. Thank you. We´ll be awaiting you then?"

Winchester nodded too, shot Campbell a slightly sceptical glance – dammit, had the agent swallowed his tongue?, and shoved the wristwatch back into his trousers´pocket. „See you later, then. The Irish stew is good, by the way. And they have a pie of the day. They´re always delicious."

Novak nodded a thank you, and they watched the doctor walk down the corridor, stop at the counter for a moment to exchange a few words with the nurse, and vanish through the glass doors at the end of the corridor in a hurry.

„So?"

„So what."

„Ah, you´ve found your voice again. I´m glad to be witness to a miracle."

Sam shot Novak a poisonous glance.

„Very funny."

The detective tilted his head. Sam realized he´d come to like that habit.

„I couldn´t help noticing the good doctor robbed you of some of your most endearing qualities, Sam."

Sam fiddled with the glass in his hands. He blushed at the compliment as well as at the insinuation behind Novak´s words. And felt a weird satisfaction that the detective´s voice revealed just a hint of jealousy.

Cas scrutinized his face. „Oh, come on, Sam ...what´s hit you? Winchester sure IS a sight for sore eyes – Jesus, I´m surprised he can survive without a bulky security man fighting off the crowd – but seriously, do you have to take on his talking habits?"

Sam looked up at that. „What? Talking...oh. Yeah, he´s pretty...reserved, huh."

Cas snorted. „Body language, one-word-sentences...I´d rather call it guarded like the National Gold Reserves. The man has some history I´m dying to know more of. So, if you could possibly pull together what the doctor´s pretty sight has left of your brains, and find out some more about him..."

Sam looked surprised.

„You´re right...let´s have a look...how long do I have?"

Cas looked at his watch.

„Twenty minutes. Go!"

Sam opened his laptop.

_Sometimes he got hold up. Other ...things...occurred, events he couldn´t control entirely, and he didn´t get to carry out his plans within the set time table. But that didn´t bother him much any more, as much as he hated to delay things. The right time always came...eventually. He´d learned that sometimes it was the right move to wait ... wait for the perfect moment to come, rather than choose a risky, earlier one. So, he held still, lurked in the dark, invisible to anyone...and waited. _

„Huh."

„What?"

„I can´t believe I didn´t check the doctor out before we went to the hospital. This is definitely an interesting biography."

„Maybe because you were mesmerized by a certain picture..."

Cas frowned. „You opened your laptop like five minutes ago, and you´ve already got the man´s entire biography on the screen?"

Sam shrugged his wide shoulders. „Wunderkind, remember? Plus the FBI gold membership has its advantages..."

„I wonder why it takes us three weeks to get some damn information from the bureau then each time we dare ask for something", the detective growled grumpily.

Sam chuckled. „You have to ask the RIGHT guy..."

It was Novak´s term to look poisonous.

„So? Any corpses in the doc´s hidden cellar?"

Sam frowned, but shook his head. „Not corpses, but ... look for yourself."

He got up, and slipped into the booth at Cas´ side, putting the laptop in front of them. Cas secured the well filled glasses of beer. No need to endanger their stronghold of wisdom by spilling liquids over it.

At least 20 windows were opened on the screen. Cas whistled silently.

„Dammit, you ARE good", he acknowledged. Sam´s fingers hoovered over the keys for an instant.

„Thank you!", he said, feeling a little awkward, and blushing. „So..."

He started to guide the detective through the documents.

„Here´s the birth certificate... parents...wait a moment, I could find out where..." His fingers danced over the keyboard so fast Cas could only stare at them in awe.

„Yesssss..."

Another window appeared on the screen, some house ownership document, issued to one Mr. and Mrs. John and Mary Winchester. Sam hit a key, and a map popped up at the screen´s right corner, a little red point blinking at them. „The Winchester Family Home, Lawrence, Kansas. Want to have a look on google streets? See what it looks like now?"

Cas raised his hands. „No, that´s creepy, stalker boy. Let´s move on..."

„Ok, so...apparently, the Winchester apple pie life ended abruptly when the family car got hit by a truck...here...death certificates of John and Mary. Little Dean survived...barely, obviously. I could hack into the data of the hospital where he was brought to, but I´m not sure they´ve digitalized everything from that time already...would take too much time."

Cas nodded. „No need...so, Dean was an orphan at .. how old was he then?"

„Five."

„Jesus. Poor kid."

„Yeah...gets worse...he spent some time at hospitals...then there´s his name again...here..."

He pulled another document to the front.

„Social service? Didn´t the Winchesters have any relatives? Grandparents, aunts, cousins?"

Sam shook his head. „Doesn´t seem so...it happens, you know? Or...dunno...they didn´t want him?"

Cas huffed. „Come on – the kid of your brother, cousin, whatever, is all alone in the whole world, and you don´t take him into your family? That´s...no way you leave a kid to social services if there´s another way..."

Sam shrugged. „Not all families think that way."

He looked at his watch.

„Anyway, seems like little Dean was handed from foster family to foster family...orphanages in between...obviously, he was a `difficult´ child. Here it is...first police report...he stole...er...a box of chocolate?"

Cas leant forward. „Look at the date...", he said, pointing on the document, smiling.

„February 14th...what...OH!" Sam blushed again.

Cas grinned. „He stole chocolate for his sweetheart...on Valentine´s Day. That´s...cute."

„Cute? He was...nine. And the shop owner obviously wasn´t amused, if he made them file a report. Jerk."

Cas shot him a slanted look. „So you´re already siding with the delinquent? That´s sweet, agent..."

Sam huffed. „Come on...the boy´s lost his parents, gets taken into homes and dumped within months time and again ... have a heart, man."

The detective sighed. „Your soft heart´s adorable, Sam...but I know one too many stories like that one...you know, most of the criminals I have to deal with have some sad childhood story to tell, and to blame for what they do, how they live...it gets old with time."

Sam looked at him for a moment.

„I din´t take you for the sarcastic `Believe me, I´ve seen it all´-type."

Cas flinched. „I try not to be. But sometimes...it´s hard to stay...caring. You know, when you...just see them make the same mistakes...over and over again...and not taking responsibility for who they are..." He sounded tired, and Sam laid his hand on the other man´s shoulder. It was an innocent enough gesture, but it shot a spark of electricity through his veins nevertheless. Did he imagine it, or was the detective leaning into the touch?

„I know...". He cleared his throat.

„But see...Winchester really seems the exception that gives you hope..."

He opened two more windows. „When he was 15, after several more minor delicts, he was finally arrested for ...let´s see...ah. Stealing a car. But instead of putting him into juvenile detention, he was stationed at some boys´ home in the middle of nowhere...and from then on, no police reports any more. Not one."

Sam clicked a few keys. „He finished school, with excellent grades by the way-" a report popped up, witness to his words –„and made the training to first-aid attendant."

The next document was Dean Winchester´s enlistment in the army. „Army paid for university, five years of service in exchange. The classical way for those with the brains and skills but without the dime to make anything out of it."

He sounded bitter, and Cas shot him a curious glance. He remembered Campbell´s past...the illegal work for several organisations on the liberal/left wing of the political spectrum.

„So, something happened at that boy´s home that turned him into a model citizen all of a sudden. Interesting."

Sam sighed. „I dunno...maybe just someone who finally cared about what happened to the boy? Took an interest in his life...made him see his potential?"

He took a long swig from his beer.

„Believe me, if anybody knows, it´s me. One human being can change your life. For good."

„Yeah...for worse, too. That´s my experience, agent. But I´m glad it turned out that way for Winchester. And for you at that."

Sam suddenly was very aware that his arm still rested on Novak´s shoulder.

„Yeah...guess it swings both ways."

He took his hand off the detective – with regret – and pulled the laptop nearer to his chest.

„Winchester got his M.D., and paid his debts... went to Iraque...Afghanistan...practically non stop. Well, I guess there was no one waiting for him at home."

His fingers danced over the keyboard.

„Ah. Some incident in...Aranus, wherever that is. 2007...6 casualties, dozens of wounded soldiers and civilians...Winchester obviously got shot while performing first aid..." The keys clicked in a mad staccato, windows opening and closing on the screen so fast Cas´ head began to spin.

„Shoulder...jeez. He obviously finished attending to a few more wounded before he passed out himself. Here´s the official report."

Cas read the short text. Dry words to tell a story of death, pain, and the miracle of humanity.

„So, he´s a hero, on top of it all."

Sam nodded slowly. „Seems like it. Silver star and all."

„Dammit, I almost wished he´d done something really douchy, like...dunno..sold medical supplies on the black market. Dealed drugs to his fellow men. Whatever."

Sam looked at him curiously. „Are you telling me you can´t handle heroism? Or unscathed humanity?"

Novak downed his beer. „No. But it tends to make me feel like the small and insignificant person I am. And I didn´t survive years of marriage and a grisly divorce to have my wife´s – ex-wife´s – methods used on me by... by..."

„By a document on a computer screen", Sam attended, smiling.

„Exactly", the detective growled. „They can be vicious, you know!"

Sam laughed, and looked at his watch again. „Well, if it makes you feel better – the doctor HAS flaws. Like being late already."

Cas huffed. „Well, I suppose he is because he´s saving some kid or grandma from deadly peril. Which is really annoying."

„Awww...grumpy cat."

„What?"

„Grumpy cat? You know, the one who...never mind. Guess you´re too old to..." Sam stopped, and blushed.

„Ah, my wounded heart", Cas sighed. „stabbed again and again today. But, alas, I´m used to it..."

Sam turned the screen to his colleague. „Here´s Grumpy Cat for you, pathetic old man. Give me a minute, and he´s saying `I hate heroes!´ in ten different languages including Mandarin and Suaheli."

Cas couldn´t help laughing. „Geek baby! I may be old, but I still have my dignity. Well, most of it."

Sam grinned. „Sure..." He got serious again. „And you´re everything but small and ...insignificant, by the way. I mean...as far as I can tell. Until now."

Jeez, he felt like a teenager at his first date again. Awkward.

To Sam´s delight, he saw a slight blush creep over Novak´s cheeks, too.

„Now I need another beer", the detective sighed gruffly. „Or...something better...where´s that damned doctor anyway!"

Sam smiled. „You´re driving. Just saying. And-"

The door opened, and they both turned in their seats.

The doctor had arrived.

Well, Dean thought, maybe his first impression of the two policemen hadn´t been so wrong after all. The way they sat together in the booth, shoulders touching, the taller guy´s head bent low – you could easily read it as a tender scene. On the other hand, they were staring at a laptop screen when he opened the door, so – it could just be that.

When they turned, their faces were slightly red, though. In fact, they looked like kids caught in the act of sneaking into Mom´s wardrobe for presents before Christmas Morning.

He closed the door, and approached the table in the corner of the small room.

The tall one, agent Campbell (XF 58 240712), slipped out of the booth, reaching out his hand. Dean was surprised again at how young he looked. The blush on his cheeks added to the boyish charm...so did the dimples when he smiled.

„Dr. Winchester. We ..er...we already got worried..."

Dean shook the other man´s hand. „Yeah...sorry about that. Complications."

He shrugged his shoulders.

„Thanks for coming anyway", the other one said – Detective Novak, Castiel (badge number 8986). Dean had looked forward to hear this gravelly voice again. Those two were quite the sexy team...

He looked at the table. No sign of plates or cutlery. „Oh – you haven´t eaten yet?"

The FBI agent rubbed his hands on his sides. Dean almost smiled. It was such a childlike gesture. „Er...we wanted to wait..."

Dean turned to the door again, and opened it. „Sally? Sal!" The waitress nodded at him, and smiled. „Be there in a sec, hun!"

Turning back, he caught Campbell watching him. Although the tall man schooled his features into a non-committal smile immediately, Dean had got a glimpse at the expression his face had shown before – something between intrigued, and yearning...in fact, he´d looked like someone who searched his brain for a memory, and couldn´t quite find it...knowing it was lingering right there under the surface...

Dean knew his own face wouldn´t reveal anything, none of the interest, the sexual attraction (which was definitely there, he couldn´t deny it), and sure none of the feeling of uneasiness the young man gave him. He´d worked on this poker face long ago...for years and years, so no one could spot weaknesses or read his emotional reactions, using them against him. Survival techniques...

Novak had already slipped behind the table again, taking out files and folders from a box and piling them up on one side of the table.

„Er...shall we sit down?", Agent Campbell asked, and again, there was this underlying tone of hesitation. Like a kid not being sure who´s in charge.

„Sure", Dean replied, and approached the table.

„So – what´s it you need my opinion to? Honestly, I wondered about your request – doesn´t the FBI or police have their own specialists?"

Novak looked up. „We do. But firstly, they are God knows where, and I prefer to talk personally, not only get some emailed statements. Usually we get more, and better, results if we work together in person – with whoever we bring in. Plus we needed someone with your ..er...special knowledge."

Dean raised his eyebrows.

„I´m a general surgeon like so many others. I wasn´t aware I had special knowledge..."

The detective smiled. He looked at his colleague for a moment, cocking his head a little – there it was again, a tiny moment of ...some sort of intimacy... – then back straight into Dean´s eyes. His were blue, very blue, intelligent, and sharp.

„Oh, believe me, you do, as far as this case is involved. But, er, before we start, I´d like to ensure you you will get paid for the time this takes, of course."

Dean nodded slowly.

The door opened, and Sally, the pretty middle aged waitress, came in.

„So, what can I get you guys? We have old style beef stew, spicy chicken stew, and a vegetarian vegetable stew. All served with home made bread."

Dean watched the other two men order. He´d had two more cigarettes before entering the pub (he hadn´t been entirely truthful about his delay), and now his stomach felt kind of knotted together pretty tightly. The idea of eating ...no thanks.

Sally looked at him expectantly. „For you, love?"

He shook his head. „Nothing today, thanks, Sally. I´ll have a Kilkenny."

He cought her unhappy glance. Worried, even. „Just tell me if you change your mind", was all she said though.

„You´re a regular?", the detective asked. His black stubble, together with the unruly hair (he seemed to shove his hands through it as a habit), gave him a daring air.

Dean shrugged his shoulders.

„Depends..."

Novak seemed to wait for more, but when Dean didn´t elaborate – he´d certainly not talk to any stranger about his after-work habits, let alone a policeman – he cleared his throat.

„So – the case."

The look at Agent Campbell again. This time, the younger man got the message, obviously. Dean wondered if he was always so shy.

„Yeah, uh – yes." Jesus, Campbell – Sam, it was – blushed again. Dean felt a smile tug at the corners of his mouth.

„We are investigating a series of murders. They all share a specific sign, like...a mark the killer leaves on the bodies."

Dean watched the younger man. He seemed to regain his self-confidence when talking about his job.

„The killer used different ..er..techniques to murder his victims. But this ..mark...didn´t change. Never. We have 14 murders so far."

„14?" Dean was surprised. „That´s – that´s a real serial killer."

„We kept the lid on a few of them, so the press doesn´t know everything, and not about all the details either", Novak filled in.

„The details being where I come in?", Dean asked. He wondered...horrific scenes from movies filling his mind...please, don´t let it be the eyes, he thought.

„Exactly." Novak again. „If I may..."

Sally came in, carrying a tray with two large bowls and a covered basket. She set a glass of beer in front of Dean.

„There you go...you´ll call if there´s anything else, right?" She looked at Dean saying it, so he nodded and smiled at her.

„You mind?", Novak asked, and Dean made an inviting gesture. His stomach made some unpleasant movements when he smelled the food, so as a distraction he pulled the pile of folders over and looked at the detective questioninigly. „Can I look at these while you´re eating?"

„Sure! Take your time..."

Sam could have slapped himself. What was it with Dr. Winchester that seemed to glue his tongue to the roof of his mouth! In his presence he felt...like a kid again. He´d sensed it at the hospital, and again the moment the doctor had entered the room.

It was like...being little again, and the big cousin came over for the holidays – a cousin who´d already experiences with cigarettes, alcohol, and girls. And said things like „whatever" when the adults talked to him. The perfect role model... a God of wisdom and coolness. And ...safety. Protection. Weird. Sam had never had a cousin like that, but somehow Dean Winchester gave him exactly that feeling.

Plus some more adult ones that had nothing to do with wisdom and coolness, but skin contact and sweaty movements and the pleasure of slamming that body against a wall, biting those gorgeously plush lips...he knew he was blushing, and he had every reason to. He felt torn between being the little cousin and the hot passionate lover in his mind, which somehow confused his usually quick and reliable thinking a little. And that was exactly what he – what they - could go without.

Focus. Focus, Sam.

Well, it was really hard to focus with one very hot, very ...flirtatious male human at his side (in fact, touching his very THIGH under the table), and one strikingly beautiful, equally hot other male across the table, an adorable frown on his face while studying the folders they´d brought with them.

He shot the doctor furtive glances now and then, while eating with pleasure, drinking his beer, commenting on the stew (which was definitely the best he´d eaten in ages), and returning the pressure of Cas´ leg trying not to blush again. He caught the detective watching the surgeon, too. It was hard not to look at that face. Sam had a pretty photographic memory, and comparing the actual up-to-date Dean Winchester to the photo they´d watched online, he found some changes. Sure, there was the scruff. There were also deeper shadows around his eyes, dark smudges under them, and the cheek bones (of the kind a professional photographer would kill for in a model) more prominent. He secretely followed the scar on Winchester´s cheek up to the temple, wondering about the story behind it...how would the scar tissue feel under his fingers...smooth, or ragged...Rather sexy wrinkles showed in the corners of the doctor´s eyes...and where on the photo he´d been slightly tanned, he was pale now – very pale. The freckles (THINKING the word alone made Sam feel a hot wave rise somewhere downside his belt) were in sharp contrast to the fair skin...

All in all, Dr. Winchester looked tired. Tired in every sense of the word, which gave Sam this uneasy feeling again, a feeling the reactions of the waitress, and the nurse earlier at the hospital, had only intensified. He ´d seen worry in their eyes, heard it in their voices.

Why did everyone worry about Dean Winchester? And why did he look like someone who barely - who was barely alive?

Sam dipped the delicious bread into the rest of his stew, wiped the bowl clean, and almost moaned. He exchanged another glance with Cas, who looked equally satisfied by his food, and answered the look with a distinct push of his leg – and dabbed at Sam´s chin with his napkin, a lazy grin on his face, like a cat playing with a mouse. Sam focused on the detective´s stunning eyes, and thought about the fact how ready he was to be Castiel Novak´s prey any time soon.

_The cut itself was easy. Having the nerve to perform it –that was the difficult part. But after some meticulous training on dead animals – and two human corpses – he was ready. Nevertheless, he still felt the thrill each time. Not because of the act itself, but because of its significance..the symbolic character...the riddle he knew it meant for the investigators later._

_Although...if he was really honest, he DID enjoy the act of cutting, too. Holding the knife in just the perfect angle, pulling the object away from the body to get a good tight resistence...guiding the blade through skin and flesh in one swift, fluent move. He knew they called it his „mark". But it was so much more._

_His little collection...it was his legacy. By taking the prey´s balls, he made a public statement: they were powerless now._

_And they would not destroy other peoples´ lives any more. He´d seen to that, for those who still had a chance. _

_Not like him._

_For him, it was too late already._

Cas liked food. He always had. When he ate, he enjoyed it. WHEN he ate. That was sometimes his problem: he forgot to. And made up for it later, when he had the chance. Suffering from the effects for hours. Knowing all of that, he forced himself to eat slowly, and made a vow not to order a second bowl of the deliciously spicy chicken stew in front of him.

It was easier than usual, as he had pretty perfect distractions around him...there was his hot partner, whose leg touched his own in a way it cost him great efforts not to grab under the table and...well. And there was the intriguing doctor right in front of him, whose air of battered-kind-soul-hidden-under-rough-armor gave him all kinds of ideas how to ...comfort that frown away...make those lips part...kiss that scar on his right cheek...yeah.

And there was the fact that Dr. Winchester was studying the folders, scanning the cases quickly, slowing down over the photos, sometimes bringing his eyes near to the enlargements, sometimes going back a few pages, looking for some detail. The man knew how to work fast and purposefully... Cas guessed it came with all the stuff you had to learn when becoming a doctor. And with mastering stressful situations in a warzone maybe...

Winchester had reached the fourth or fifth case when Cas had finished his stew, watching the doctor hoover over one particular photo for some time, looking for something in the pathologist´s report, and then pulling one of the folders out of the pile of those he´d already looked through. Cas exchanged a look with agent Campbell, who´d found some of his composure again – after the weird repetition of his retreat to mutism when Winchester had entered the room. Sam had a speck of stew on his chin, and looked happily fed and satisfied. Cas dabbed away the spot of red gently. The young agent´s eyes were on him, intense, burning. Jeez...they´d have to slow down things a little, or they would probably rip each other´s clothes off in front of the doctor within 10 minutes. Who, on the other hand, didn´t seem the type to be scared or shocked by things like that. Nevertheless...

„Your killer...you suppose a military background, right? That´s why you wanted my expertise."

Cas tore his eyes from Campbell, and glanced at the surgeon. He found a slight smile tug at the corners of Winchester´s mouth. The doctor didn´t miss a beat of what was going on around him, focused reading and all...well, he seemed more interested than disgusted or appalled, and Cas had the fleeting – and very unsettling – image of the three of them together, in his bedroom, stark naked, ghost through his mind. He hastily shut the door to it (knowing he was blushing, but what the hell...).

„Yes, we do." If his voice was a little rough, who cared...

„I think you are right", Winchester said.

Cas looked at Campbell, than at the doctor expectantly.

When the surgeon didn´t elaborate, but just looked at one of the reports again, biting the nails of his right hand in an unconscious gesture (looking rather young, and somehow vulnerable, doing so), Cas sighed inwardly. Dammit - the man was a hermit crab.

„How come? I mean - what makes you think so?"

Winchester looked up. He let his hand fall down, suddenly aware of what he´d been doing. God, the man looked tired. Cas almost felt sorry for having him kept here, far from his bed and cushions. On the other side, they really needed his opinion. It was a public favor...the doctor could sleep like a baby any other time. Although it would be a shame wasting time with sleep when they...

Cas cleared his throat. His damned mind wouldn´t stop going wayward today.

Dean leafed through the reports the detective had piled up on the table. Jesus...14 cases. If he´d watched the news more attentively lately, he´d probably known more about the serial killings, but as it was, his personal life somehow crumbling all around him, and this annoying tiredness that seemed to fill him for weeks now, he had only a vague idea of some murders going on over the last months...he might even have seen the handsome detective Novak on TV, but couldn´t be sure...everything that happened at home was blurred, like covered by a haze of tiredness. He was glad he could still function perfectly at work. Otherwise...

Huh. When he reached the third case, he got an idea why the police had asked for him especially. He´d seen this kind of killing techniques before. Enough of them. Too many, actually. The murderer obviously had so, too...and had tried to make a show out of it. Did that nutcase want to prove something here? As in..."20 creative ways Special Forces use to get rid of our enemies offside the battlefield, part one?" A hell of a statement.

He quickly went over two more cases. Yes. It was like...a killer´s yearbook. All that was missing were golden star stickers.

And then, there was the „mark". The killer´s stamp. His autograph...talking of statements...

A garrotte. Heart stab, perfectly aimed between the ribs. Choking by practically kicking in the Adam´s apple. Suffocating. A slit throat. Suffocating again, different technique though. Poison. What a variety of choices to bring someone from life to death...

Across the table, Novak and Campbell were eating mostly in satisfied silence, only now and then commenting on the excellent food. And...well. He was absolutely sure now there was something going on far beyond a professional relationship there...he could almost feel the heat wafting over the table. He couldn´t help a smile. Dammit, he wasn´t above joining them, to be honest..he could need the fun, that much was sure. And they both were hot separately, but thinking of them together...oh well. Keep a clean face, Dr. Winchester. You know what happens if you let your needs show, don´t you...

When he got the feeling the men on the other side of the table had a hard time not to have their hands all over each other, he decided to get things over with quickly, to give them a chance to...whatever.

Sam felt awkard. More so than ever in his life, as least as far as he could remember.

When he felt Winchester´s eyes on him, just in that instant when he turned back from the deep, pretty heated shared stare with Cas – he knew he blushed vividly, but weirdly enough, not out of embarrassment. For a fleeting moment, he had the impression...as if...as if the doctor wouldn´t mind to be part of their game. Then he had his usual mask back on, polite, but unreadable.

The problem was – Sam wouldn´t mind having the handsome doctor on board either. Which was...kind of...wrong, wasn´t it? It was new enough for two men showing their interest for each other in public. It was new enough for HIM to let himself be pulled into...something...that fast; and with detective Novak, things evolved so fast he already felt a little dizzy. So, the idea of spending a turbulent night with TWO of the hottest men he´d ever laid eyes on - was almost too much.

So, he would just focus on work now, and cross the bridge when they got there. Whatever bridge that might be.

When Cas asked the taciturn surgeon for the reasons he assumed their ideas about the killer were more than a wild guess, he first thought the doctor wasn´t going to answer at all. He felt Cas stir at his side irritatedly, and stifle a sigh. But then, miraculously, Dean Winchester M.D. opened his mouth and started to talk.

Dean took his time to answer the detective´s question, even sensing the other man´s irritation. Well, he knew the feeling. It had driven Jo crazy when he needed so much time to get things said, if he got that far at all in the first place. Most time, he wouldn´t give satisfying answers, and he was well aware of it. It was – he just couldn´t. All the therapy in the world wouldn´t ever give him the confidence to trust anyone enough to..."open up", as Jo had put it (and Garth, and Jake, and Ellen, and Dr. Mills, which pretty much summed up all the people he talked to at all, if you didn´t count the few words he exchanged with hospital staff, or people at stores).

In this case, it was a purely professional topic, right; but it involved the experiences he´d made during his time in the army, and it got pretty personal there. Even worse, it involved those two years he had been trying to erase from his memory ever since he was back from Afghanistan. Shoving the images to the back of his head, covering them with innocent information...the progress of his car´s renovation, new surgical material and operation techniques, articles in medical journals, the few books he read and reread, music (classic rock only), and movies...lots of movies. It worked, as far as it kept the images at bay during the day. It did not keep them out of his dreams.

His bloody hands.

The screams.

Cas was almost surprised when the doctor finally spoke. He had been prepared to drag every single word out of Dr. Winchester already. Now, he just watched the man go through each of the cases he´d been catching on methodically, and listened to his pleasant voice. Saying very unpleasant things, but still..

„So...you´ve got 14 cases so far, and the killer has not once repeated his method of killing. That´s a fact that speaks for itself, but I guess you know that...you´ll be waiting for my medical opinion to the techniques, I suppose, as I´ve been an army combat surgeon, and served two years in the Special Forces..."

Sam stirred, almost jerked. What? Special Forces? How had he missed that? He felt Novak move at his side...he obviously shared his surprise. How on earth hadn´t he found documentation of Winchester´s time there...what...

Winchester had been opening a few files, arranging them so they had a good view on the pictures he´d chosen, so the irritation his anouncement had caused probably went unnoticed.

„There are units...within that section...specially trained units. The killing techniques your murderer here used are practically taken from their handbook. And performed with noticable skill. So...I suppose your killer is a former member of one of these units, with enough training and experience to be able to...vary."

Sam listened to the voice that had changed when the doctor started talking about the Special Forces...it was flatter, almost emotionless. Carefully controlled, Sam thought. He could tell it cost the surgeon to keep it that way. He wondered what Dean Winchester had seen during the two years. And why they weren´t accounted for in his carreer documentation.

The doctor went through picture after picture, naming the killing method – which they had already known, but not in such detail -, and specifying how the way it had been performed had SF written all over it. Winchester was fast, but thorough, confident about his judgement, clear in his explanations. Exactly what they had hoped for.

Sam began to feel uneasy again...how on earth could you gather this kind of detailed information without...without personal experience? The differences of techniques used by unit x compared to that used by unit y? The reasons why someone – a killer – would rather choose this blade over that, and pull the knife from point A to B exactly the way their killer had used...the advantages (yes, Winchester used that word) of suffocation method P vs. Q. It was disturbing...Sam stared at the surgeon´s slender, strong hands, the fingers trailing bloody lines on the photos, pointing out things, but not moving much besides that; Winchester wasn´t a man of many gestures. His hands seemed as controlled as his face, and voice, reined in by a will that had to be steely. Or by a life´s worth of experience.

Dean was sure he hadn´t spoken that much in weeks. Months. Not since the last lesson for the new interns in autumn. His voice already felt rough, the throat sore. He paused, taking a sip of his beer. Campbell and Novak were sitting in front of him like a to-be couple getting the final lecture from the priest, or clerk, or marriage counsellor...whatever. Only their facial expressions didn´t quite fit the image – Novak´s being focused, a frown drawing together his brows, eyes on one of the pictures Dean had talked about; and a certain excitement underlying it, reminding Dean of a hunting dog who´s finally taken on his prey´s trail. Campbell, on the other hand, looked a little taken aback...as if he didn´t want to hear what he´d told them (couldn´t blame him for that), or ...there was worry in his eyes. Maybe he didn´t want to hear those things from him, Dean? Maybe he´d thought he´d figured him out...and was being disillusioned right now...well, welcome to the club. Join the crowd of deluded, disappointed people he´d left behind during the years.

He rubbed his eyes, and just took in a breath to go on, when Sally, the waitress, opened the door and popped her head in.

„Everything allright here, guys? Anybody need anything?"

Dean raised his empty glass, and nodded; then looked at the two other men questioningly.

„Er – tea, please?", Campbell said, and it sounded like a question.

Sally came in, took Dean´s glass, and looked at Cas. „For you, sweetheart?"

Dean suppressed a smile. The detective´s face when she called him „sweetheart" was worth the sight. Weirdly enough, he blushed furiously, and so did Campbell. He really started to care for this strange couple – or not-couple, whatever they were.

„I´ll have a tea too", Novak growled. „I heard you have pie?"

Sally shot Dean a glance. „And I can do the maths where that came from", she said, smiling at him fondly. He grinned. „Guilty as charged", he said.

„Today there´s apple, cherry, and chocolate-pecan pie. And pudding. The British kind, you know? Christmas pudding."

Cas nodded slowly. „Cherry", he said. „With cream, please."

„I´ll try the chocolate-pecan", Campbell piped up.

Sally looked at Dean expectantly. He didn´t much feel like eating, but then it had been several hours since...whenever it was he´d had something between his teeth aside from the cigarettes, so..."Ok...", he said hesitantly. „I´ll take the apple pie, then? Cream, too."

Sally seemed satisfied, and left.

Dean straightened the files in front of him. He´d hastily closed them when Sally had entered.

„So...do we go on? Or – rather after the pie? It won´t take Sally long to bring it."

Novak stretched his back and rolled his shoulders.

„Let´s take a little break", he yawned. It was infectious. Dean rolled his neck and rubbed his shoulder. He hadn´t been aware how stiff he´d gotten while sitting and talking here. Again, he felt Campbell´s eyes on him...searching.

„So, you´re the pie expert here?", the detective went on, bending his head left and right and grimacing.

Dean shrugged. He recognized the attempt to making small talk, being polite and civilized, even when a stack of grisly pictures and reports was lying between them, proof of how thin the layer of civilization could wear, and where it took them when lost alltogether...

„I like pie", he answered, and fell silent again, knowing it wasn´t what was expected of him, and not caring at all.

„Well, I guessed that much, thanks to my extraordinary detective skills", Novak grumbled, a little sourly. Dean couldn´t help a grin spread over his face.

„I knew that pretty gold badge had to mean something", he replied before thinking about it. Novak looked at him, surprised.

Dean felt confused for a second. Had he said something weird? Then he realized the detective hadn´t expected him to make a joke. Well, honestly, it had taken himself by surprise, too. When was the last time he´d said something funny? Had laughed? Had made someone else laugh?

Blurred pictures, and foggy memories...the weeks were like mist, nothing to grab, nothing to hold.

He was glad when he heard Sally come in with their orders.

Cas stirred three well filled spoons of sugar into his tea. From the corner of his eye, he saw Sam shovel a piece of chocolate pie into his mouth. Cas took a sip of the tea...strong, and sweet. And hot. He almost choked on it when a suppressed moan came from the direction of his colleague. He put the cup down gingerly, and looked up at Sam. The tall agent was chewing on his pie, eyes closed.

„Making out with your pie?", Cas asked with mock indifference.

Sure, Sam choked on his mouthful, and Cas made a show of padding his back and even handing him a handkerchief to dab at his watering eyes. The agent´s face was a bright red. Well, one could always put it on the coughing fit.

„I hate you", Campbell croaked, taking a swig of the water Sally had brought with their tea.

„I know", Cas answered cheerfully. „I have that effect on people.."

He noticed the smile that ghosted over Winchester´s face. It was surprising to see the change in the man when he lifted that unreadable mask for a second. He seemed almost alive.

Cas sipped his tea, and watched a slightly pouting agent Campbell do the same.

What the hell – he´d started this, now they had to go through with it. And Winchester had already seen enough to do the maths, so – no use to stop before the finishing line.

„To quote a famous movie starring apple pie: `It´s all natural, son´.", Cas said friendly, padding Sam´s shoulder in a fatherly way.

He had the satisfaction of seeing Dean Winchester look up from the file he´d started to leaf through again, and actually bark out something like a single laugh. It sounded like he hadn´t used this section of his vocal cords for some time – rusty, and coated with dust. Sam Campbell gave Cas an adorable bitchface.

„To quote another famous movie starring a carpet and an overweight bowling fanatic : You´re entering a world of pain...", the agent said, smiling politely, but with an evil spark in his eyes. Cas giggled. Before he could stop himself, he was punching Campbell in the arm amiably. Which almost made the agent spill his tea.

„Touché", Cas grinned at him. The agent´s eyes darted to Dr. Winchester – who had resumed reading, head in his hand, seemingly oblivious to their banter – then back to Cas.

„I want satisfaction", Sam said in a low voice.

Oh, so they were finally getting to the point...Cas nodded slowly. „And you shall have it, my dear lord..."

They shared another glance full of ... heat, and promise. Cas´ trousers grew just a little tighter. Later. Not much later though, hopefully.

Sam got a little worried they were flirting too obviously, but after showing an unexpected smile – seemed like they had his blessing for...whatever - Dr. Winchester buried himself in the folders again. Nevertheless, they would have to calm things down, get the work done, and enjoy whatever was included in „satisfaction" once they got out of here.

So, when Cas and he finally broke the heated stare, he turned to the doctor with deliberation, ready to go through whatever more the surgeon had to tell them.

As Winchester just read on, ignoring them, he pulled the folders they´d already talked about over, and opened a new window on his laptop.

„Let´s just jot down what new information we´ve got so far?", he said to Cas, who had devoured his cherry pie in record time, now licking his lips. Sam tore his gaze from it with effort.

„I mean - so that we´ve got something to work with until we´ve an official statement?"

At that, Winchester looked up. He kept supporting his head with one hand, as if he was having troubles holding it upright. If possible, he looked even paler and more tired than before...and there was something with his eyes. They had grown duller, glazed over.

„Er...Dr. Winchester, are you OK?", Sam asked, suddenly worried.

His question made Cas look up from his plate, where he had been dabbing at the last crumbs of pie, and watch the surgeon with squinted eyes, head cocked.

The doctor sighed, rubbed his eyes – he did that a lot, Sam had noticed -, and shoved his hand through his short hair. Sam wondered how it might feel to have his own fingers do that...Winchester´s hair looked soft, and was so short at the neck it would make that rasping sound when a hand rubbed over it...stroked that neck...caressed the back of that head...

„Just building up a headache", the surgeon murmured.

„So, you need me to put everything in an official report? As in an expert witness statement?" The eye rub again.

„Well, we´d need a written summary ...I guess we could get your statements examined and proved by one of our people afterwards and make them do the official report..."

Cas sounded hesitant."But if it comes to a court of law, we would need you as witness, Dr. Winchester. Would you be willing to testify in a trial?"

Sam watched the doctor while Cas was speaking. Something like a shadow flickered over the face. Just an instant, but Sam had caught it. Did Winchester have a dislike for the court? Or just for being exposed in public? His overall demeanor would suggest the latter. But then he maybe just hated to write reports. Oh my. Sam could very much relate to that.

„I will sum everything up as fast as possible", Winchester said. „But it will take a few days I guess...I´m on duty this weekend, so..."

„Oh, that´s Ok, there´s no need to hurry", Cas replied, hands raised in a calming gesture. „Once agent Campbell and I have your ideas, we´ve something to go on with. There´ll be enough time for the official part later."

Winchester massaged his temples. „Yeah..." It sounded flat. Drained, even.

They should let the man get the rest he so obviously needed. Badly.

„Let´s finish up here, shall we?", Sam said hastily. „Go through the rest of the cases so we get a general idea if your assessment is valid for them too?" He looked at both other men, easing his slightly brash words with a smile.

„So we can all go home...I guess we all had long days."

Winchester only nodded. Cas gave Sam an unreadable glance.

„No objections here", he said.

The doctor couldn´t find anything special in the next two murders; pointed out a few details for the following ones; and only slowed down when he opened the last one and had started to read the pathologist´s report. Sam shared a glance with Cas. They hadn´t said anything specific about Dr. Tran´s theory yet, waiting for the surgeon´s reaction to the facts she´d written down.

Sam felt a little restless after another pot of tea (Sally had popped in now and then, and he only ever noticed how fast time went by when she did so). Winchester had gone to the men´s room twice, and seemed a little better now. He´d even taken two forks of the pie in front of him; but Sam couldn´t help noticing he was mainly playing with the crumbs and pieces on his plate when they made another short pause (and the waitresses´ frown when she saw the pie still there each time she showed up). He wondered if the doctor had an eating disorder. Sam had checked him out (discreetly) when he left the room...Winchester sure looked like someone who´d lost weight lately. The black, torn jeans hanging low (which Sam didn´t object to though, as it looked damn sexy), the black T-shirt a little too wide... Sam concentrated on the belt the second time Winchester got up (VERY discreetly) – and yes, the leather clearly showed the mark where the buckle used to be...two holes wider than now. Once again, Sam´s fingers itched to go on his laptop and dig deeper into the surgeons´ personal life. There were always traces...But his conscience, gladly, kicked in, calling him a creepy stalker and unprofessional douche, and sounding very much like his Mum when she was giving him a good head wash.

Well. He could always call it personal interest in a very, VERY attractive man, far from any professional er...matters. It still remained ...creepy.

„You think he´s OK?", he asked Cas, the second time Winchester left.

Cas shot him a glance. „You seem to have unknown mother-hen tendencies, Agent Campbell", he said drily. „And no, he doesn´t seem OK. But he´s willing to work with us, he´s exactly the expert we need, and he´s a grown man, so – whatever is eating him, he obvioulsy can handle it enough to go on."

Sam fiddled with his fork. „Yeah...guess you´re right.."

Cas grinned. „I wonder if you´d be that concerned if the good doctor were less attractive", he said.

Sam felt himself blush. He didn´t take the bait of the joke, though.

„He is, isn´t he..." he said, wondering why it sounded so subdued.

„Devilishly", Cas responded, casting him a slanted look. „Or heavenly, whatever you prefer. And in case you were wondering – yes, I´ve thought about it, too. It´s almost impossible not to, with those lips directly in front of you for hours..."

Sam knew his blush must have deepened, if the warmth on his cheeks was any indication. The detective´s blunt and straightforward way of addressing ..sexual...things, whenever he let go of his usual flirtatious style, was something Sam still had to get used to. Even if he knew Novak did it on purpose to tease him.

He cleared his throat, and cought Cas´smile in the corner of his eye. Bastard.

The pounding started while the agent and the detective were bringing their flirtation to a new level. He had known it would be coming, the pressure inside his head building constantly over the last half hour; but when the drums finally exploded, it was with a vehemence he´d not expected. He felt dizzy and nauseous for a moment, until he had adjusted to the pain. You could do that...he´d learned as much, when he was wounded all those years ago, and during the last months, when the headaches had started...they worsened gradually, so you didn´t get trampled by them ...and step by step, they became just normalcy. Most of the time.

He concentrated on the pages in front him, even if the numbers and fonts seemed to do a happy tour in the merry-go-round there, and seemed to slip his vision before he could grasp their meaning.

The last of the files proved to be interesting. The killer had used the same technique for the second time. Was he running out of methods? Or did he just show a liking for this special one? Or would the repetition be a sign...for a special meaning...he would leave the answers to THAT to the two men across the table. If they could take their eyes off each other long enough to look at the numbers on the pages in front of them. They obviously made an effort, as the FBI-agent started collecting all the details he´d given them on his laptop, quietly talking to his colleague.

When the dull pounding turned into searing, hot stabs of pain, Dean decided it was time for help. He excused himself and went to the men´s room, digging the bottle of pills out of his pocket, and taking two; he splashed his face with cold water several times, and waited with closed eyes until the pills would kick in. They took their time. He stared at his pale face in the mirror. No wonder Sally shot him those worried looks all the time.

He sat down on one of the toilets for a while, leaning his head back against the cool tiles on the wall. The young FBI agent had clearly checked him out when he had left the room, he had practically felt his eyes on the back of his head. Out of worry or for other reasons, Dean couldn´t say though. Campbell seemed to be the kind of person who worried for others. In fact, he seemed like a kind person in general. How the hell someone like him had ended up with the FBI, Dean would like to know...he´d rather put him in a classroom, as one of the teachers everyone would have good memories of, or...in a court of law maybe. Yes, the handsome, tall man would make an impressive lawyer...

His thoughts drifted, and he wasn´t sure how much time had passed when he jerked awake. He stared at his hands, lying there in his lap innocently.

They were clean.

_He wondered if the police would ever find out why he´d chosen the injection a second time. If he didn´t tell them, that was...and he was more and more inclined to just do his job, and vanish, rather than turn himself in after the last hunt...or go out with a drumroll. _

_Disguise. That had been the theme...a murder, disguised as a natural death...so that, if he hadn´t left his mark, no one would ever have even looked for a violent cause of death. Because those bastards weren´t worth that kind of attention. Their lives – a lie, stage decoration for their dark secrets._

_He´d taken their disguise from them...had exposed their black souls...for those who could see._

The pills didn´t help as they were supposed to. Not any more. He could barely read the thorough report the pathologist...a Dr. Tran...had put together. As soon as he´d read the name of the poison used by the killer – or, rather, Dr. Tran´s hand written notice „supposedly xy, not confirmed by lab yet" at the side of one of the columns – the memories had kicked in.

He´d still been in Afghanistan then, waiting to be shipped home...the last two weeks to pass, with barely anything to do but play cards and look at a soldier´s sunburn or infected eyes now and then. The head of Medical Supplies had dropped dead out of nowhere. Sure, he was a diabetic, but it was a surprise nevertheless. The man took his injections with the precision of a machine. Like he did everything else, in fact.

Dean himself wouldn´t have given his death a second thought though, especially considering what an unpleasant human being the guy had been; but some medical examiner, obviously a thorough man with a lot of work ethics, had found some irregularities...and Major Walker´s natural death had turned out to be a murder, commited with some substance that was traceable, but only if you looked for it in the first place. If injected someplace hard to find...no chance to ever find the puncture mark. Someone had gone far to disguise the murder.

Not that Dean couldn´t understand why anybody would want to kill the man.

He more than anyone else on the base.

The major had a past far less harmless than the lame job he´d taken on after his illness had gotten worse.

A past which Dean had shared for two unforgettable years.

He started to wonder about the killer Novak and Campbell were tracing. If he was one of Walker´s men, too. Of his „creations". His monsters.

Cas couldn´t believe their luck.

Of all the surgeons with army background in town, they´d stumbled across the one that had shared some service time with the crime victim Dr. Tran had talked about – the reason why they´d made the connection to the army in the first place.

When Winchester pointed out he had seen the poison mentioned by Dr. Tran used in a murder before, giving them lots of details on the case, but rather few on the why and how of his connection to the victim, a Major Walker, Cas felt a new energy fill his veins. This was the proof they´d needed, the trace, the scent that would lead them to this invisible killer ... „The Ghost of Death", as the tabloids had already baptized him, which was only slightly better than the „Billy Balls" that popped up somewhere after the third murder. The commissioner, in unison with the FBI, had managed to rein the media in, so that no more details were published from the eighth murder on (the media grinding their teeth, but still holding their part of the deal).

They´d need to get their hands on the army´s material, lists of personnel, and soldiers, and staff, that crowded the base at the time when the murder had happened. The army usually was not too happy about requests like that, but Cas knew a serial killer with already 14 corpses in his wake would be an argument striking enough to make them cooperate. And there were perks to having the FBI on bord...

He watched Winchester come back from what obviously had been a smoke break. Jeez, it was almost a relief there were still people – a doctor, for God´s sake – who were smoking despite the war that was going on against them (Cas had quit years ago, his wife – ex-wife – craving a healthy lifestyle).

The man seemed drained. Cas was glad they could wrap this up now, as despite his words to Campbell earlier, he had become increasingly worried about the doctor either. Something was definitely wrong with him, at least the man needed a good night´s sleep, or better a week in bed maybe. Cas had seen vids on interrogation techniques, and he´d seen the effects of sleep deprivation on people – and Winchester looked like the living picture of those effects.

He had one more question, more out of curiosity, but still...then they´d finally be able to go. So, when the surgeon had taken his place at the table again, turning the half empty glass of beer in his hands, Cas tried his luck.

„I´d have one more question, Dr. Winchester" – it was weird how the doctor had never offered to use prenames - „But you don´t have to answer it if you don´t want to. It is more out of a personal interest, and to wrap things up in my mind...give me a better idea of the case we just talked about."

He paused, looking at the man across the table. Winchester looked straight back, the green eyes dark, a little hooded. Cas could tell the surgeon knew exactly what the question would be.

„OK?", was all he said though. Well, he´d talked a lot during the last hours, and given his earlier reluctance to open his mouth at all, they´d probably been lucky already.

„Do you have any idea – any suspicion – why anyone would want to kill Major Walker?"

Winchester didn´t reply. He went on turning the glass in his hands, wiping over the wet surface with his thumbs.

Cas had almost given up on the idea of getting an answer, when the doctor looked up, but not at them, but at the wall above their heads. He closed his eyes for a moment.

„Yes", he said, voice hoarse.

They waited. At Cas´ side, Sam stirred in his seat. The young agent had gone quiet during the last hour. Cas wondered if it was the heap of information they had got from the doctor, just a long day taking its toll, or the effect of Dr. Winchester´s mesmerizing lips.

If there had been a grandfather clock in the room, its tick-tock would have grown louder and louder in their heads while the minutes ticked away. As it was, only the silence seemed to become what they called „deafening" in books. It was probably two or three minutes, but to Cas it seemed it took the doc an hour to finally get there...and talk.

After a few minutes of listening, he knew why.

_He had to stay a ghost until the last prey would have been tracked down, and crossed off the list. Not because the number on the list had any special meaning. He had just collected the ones who deserved it most to be hunted down...taken out. But he had made the list, and planned everything meticulously, so he would go through with it. He´d make his statement...make them SEE. People didn´t look properly, he´d made this experience very early in his life...mostly because they just didn´t WANT to see. It was so much easier to squint your eyes, and watch only the tiny part of reality that fit the illusion of life you had chosen to be yours..."reality". HA! If there was anything like it at all, it was a one man show...6 billion realities on the planet. A few overlaps, that was it..._

_And that way, the reality of an 8 year old, scared kid running away from a place where he´d only found terror and pain, could exist peacefully parallel to that of a 42 years old policeman who brought the same kid back to his „home" time and again, knowing that there the „difficult" kid would be taken care of._

_Yeah. Overlaps...he had been „taken care of" there for sure._

Dean knew what was coming the moment he looked into the detective´s eyes. The question was – did he have to tell them? Did he WANT to? And...did it matter any more...

When Novak had asked the question, he still hadn´t decided. And then, seeing the two men sitting there, trying to understand, to find the central theme in the confusing story, he knew he was ready to talk. As ready as he would ever be. To tell someone...strangely enough, he trusted those two, trusted them more than his therapist, his doctor, or Jo, or Ellen, or Garth...because they had seen the dark side already.

Knew how real evil looked like.

Still, it was hard to find the right words.

And it hurt.

And it brought back the shame, so much shame, shiploads of it, the kind of shame that makes you hate yourself so much you hardly...you only stay alive because you think you´re not even worth killing. That kind of shame.

Sam felt restless. He could clearly feel Cas´excitement when Dr. Winchester started to talk about Major Walker´s death, the military base, the traces of poison they found in the major´s blood ... the doctor´s voice was cool, he gave all the details they´d hoped for, yet still...Sam got the feeling the more Winchester told them, the more information he did, at the same time, leave out. Sam had always been good at that...sense the things that were not said...read the emotions that were the underlying reasons why someone would hold something back...

Studying Dr. Winchester while he was giving them the facts, he felt, for the first time maybe, like he did NOT want to know the reasons for the surgeon´s selective story telling. If he was honest to himself, he was afraid he´d not like what he would hear, and that it would expose the man in front of him in a way...a way he wasn´t sure he´d be able to handle.

Therefore, he was glad when Winchester left, and just silently fed the information into the „Dr. Winchester, Dean, statement" file on his laptop. Cas was deep in thought at his side, not talking either.

When the surgeon reentered the room, bringing a faint scent of fresh cigarette smoke with him (so, he did have vices, other than letting a perfect apple pie go to waste), he hoped for a moment that they were done, would pack up and just leave. And knew, the instant the doctor slipped back into the booth, and Cas looked at him with this almost burning intensity his blue eyes could have, that his half-wish would not be fulfilled.

„When Major Walker was poisoned, he had worked as Head of Medical Supplies at the base for about ...six months only. Before that, he´d been Chief of Medical Training in a unit within the Special Forces answering to requests from several agencies...whoever needed their ...expertise." Winchester stared at the beer in his glass as if he could see the past locked in it. Cas looked at the fingers gripping the moist glass tightly. One fingernail was blackened, it was the ring finger of the doctor´s left hand, the middle finger showed some bruises too. Cas wondered what had caused them. The surgeon seemed lost in memories. Or looking for the right words. Or already regretted his decision to say anything at all. Cas studied the almost immobile face. The long, curly lashes, almost feminine, yet not looking girly on Winchester at all. The cheekbones...what an outline...perfectly shaped, prominent, the curve of a classic car ... the kind of nose that gave a face an eternal boyish charme. And then there were the lips. Those full lips, pink and plush and perfect like those of a Michelangelo statue – only alive, and moist, and seducing in a way...he couldn´t help it, the images in his mind seemed to have a life of their own, refusing to be shooed away, and then he found himself tracing the pattern of the freckles on Winchester´s cheeks and nose, looking for them on his neck, wondering where they might be found on his body...if they formed patterns holding a secret message for someone, if they were crowding on his shoulders and neck, as he´d seen it in other freckled people, if there was this one special spot, shaped like Florida or Texas or Maine...

Winchester looked up, and met Cas´gaze. And closed his eyes, one slow, almost dazed batter of his lids, the lashes grazing the bluish skin, then revealing the stunning color again, a mossy spring green, bright and soft at the same time, sometimes lit from within, and then shady and greyish like the sea again. Cas felt his skin prickle and tingle from head to toe, and a ringing tone in his ears...oh Jesus.

Winchester just held the gaze for a moment...and another...and Cas wasn´t even sure, but had he seen a flicker of something in the other man´s eyes? Need? Desperation? He could name the emotion that replaced it for a fleeting instant though, before the doctor looked down again into his magic bowl.

Shame.

Dean wondered when he´d made the decision, and what his real motivation had been. Because he´d never told anyone. Nobody, not the therapist the army forced on him, who knew about his activities of course, in a general way, but at the same time knew nothing ...understood nothing. How those two years had eaten away his soul, piece by piece, bite by bite, until he´d finally found the strength to get out out of pure anger...and, ironically, because they´d deprived him of every other emotion. The fear was gone, the desperation. The regret. All those feelings that slowed you down, made you hesitate, or even think about what you were doing, what you´d become...they fell away, slowly, but steadily, and then one day he stood in one of the prep rooms, looking through the huge one-way window at the body lying strapped to an operating table – and all he´d felt was clearness.

A clearness that made you look at everything differently...not tainted, shaded, colored, lessened, or heightened by emotions. You saw facts. Life was a simple mathematical formula, a law of physics...there was a problem, there was a question, there was a solution and an answer...so all he had to do was decide – would he get them the answer, yes or no? The probability of misjudgement was always there, sure. Of misinformation. Bad intel. But it didn´t bother him any more.

_Will you get us the answers, Winchester? Do you have it in you? _

A mathematical problem. That´s what it was. He´d been a fool to see it otherwise.

_Grow a pair, doc._

They needed answers.

So he got them the answers.

Sam saw the look Cas and Winchester exchanged, and aside from the pang of jealousy – I am here, look at me, look at me like that, let me see if there´s something in those eyes that makes me understand why I feel the way I do about you, that siren voice that´s singing inside my head all the time, the longing that goes far beyond the sexual attraction, that faint pain in my soul, itching like an old scar, look at me, ME! – all he felt was dread, because he could already see where this was going, even if they´d heard barely more than the prologue to the story, and he didn´t want to listen, didn´t want to know, didn´t want to have to see that flicker of desperation in the doctor´s eyes again. That shame.

But he kept quiet. And watched. And listened.

The doctor finally let go of the glass, and pushed it away; folded his hands in front of him, as if in prayer, and looked at his entwined fingers.

He went on, in that flat, controlled voice that became more and more creepy while he talked, about the unit´s purpose, the requests it got, how they were taken care of, and how he, Winchester, had been one of the `repair team´, ensuring their `material´ wasn´t damaged beyond use. How Walker finally had recruited him for a `more active´ role in the play. How he´d said no, had drawn a line...how the major had asked him, time and again, for months, until there´d been that one case, and they´d said time was crucial, lives were on the stake, so many lives, innocent and unaware...Cas felt the hair on his neck stand up, felt goosebumps on his arms and legs.

That flat voice. Those glazed eyes. That face, so calm and emotionless. Those immobile hands on the table.

„And I said yes", Winchester said.

It´d been a lie, of course. Not the danger everyone was in, that was very real; maybe not even the number of innocent lives threatened by an invisible evil hoovering above them. The lie was that saving them justified what they were doing to get there. Or wasn´t it? Dean wasn´t sure any more, couldn´t tell, he couldn´t trust his judgement...did 100 saved lives justify one human being tortured to death? 1000? A million? And what about those who were accused of knowing, but were innocent...sheep on the slaughter, collateral damage in a war against an evil that had long infested their own souls...

_It may be evil, Winchester, but it´s a necessary evil. You want those people to die? You want to see their burnt bodies on TV, blown to pieces? How will you look at yourself in the mirror, knowing you could have saved them? _

So he´d finally said yes.

_I´m glad you finally found those balls in your panties, Winchester._

He might have saved those people, he didn´t know. He might have banned the evil for so many others, might have smoked it out and sent back to Hell where it belonged.

But how do you look at yourself in the mirror, knowing what you´ve done to do so.

How did you get back your soul, once it was sold.

How did you forgive yourself you´d fallen for the lie.

Sam felt himself turn cold inside. It weren´t so much the facts Winchester was telling them – he´d expected something of the sort after the doctor´s first sentences. And of course, there had always been rumours about units exactly like that for years...institutions where `specialists´ took care of ... problems. It was a difference though, reading about it on some conspiracy theory website, even a serious article in renommated magazines, and having someone sit across the table and tell first hand that they existed for real. And there was the voice...clipped, matter-of-factly. An accountant giving last year´s numbers. Winchester talked efficiently, didn´t, Sam noticed, give any details, but showed them the general picture of how the system worked; and it was grisly enough. Sam´s imagination already started to undermine his focus with pictures of tortured people he´d seen.

He barely dared to look at the surgeon´s face.

`Repair team´. `Active role´. The doctor didn´t elaborate on what his place had been in the machinery. He didn´t have to.

When the surgeon fell silent after admitting to having given in to Major Walker´s calls, Cas knew he wouldn´t say more.

This wasn´t just the telling of a story, of a dark chapter in someone´s life, a buried past.

It was a confession.

He didn´t know why, or how, but he had the distinct impression that they were the first people Winchester told about it. And while he didn´t, in fact, say anything about his actual work there, he didn´t really have to; whatever role it had been – and the surgeon´s admirably long refusal to take it on, given the pressure he was sure put under, suggested a crucial one – it had shaken the man in his very foundations.

Winchester just sat there, staring at his hands as if they were someting despicable, his face a tired, pale mask.

And finally, Cas understood.

The long working hours in a hospital far from the top ranking ones, where money and prestige were concerned, despite his excellent reputation as a surgeon, the brilliant records. The few weeks of vacation spent at hospitals in third world countries or at free clinics for the underprivileged inside the US. The obviously unglamorous life style...maybe even the reluctance to eat.

Someone was making amends...no, it was more than that.

Winchester was looking for redemption.

If his face was anything to go with, he hadn´t found it yet.

As appalled as Sam might have felt when the beautiful man in front of him had confessed to being part of a facility whose only purpose was to torture information out of suspects (he hadn´t put it that way, but it was crystal clear what the meaning behind his words had been), when he saw the doctor sit there, paralyzed, the eyes glued to his hands, he couldn´t detest the man for what he´d done.

He´d been a cog in the works, maybe even tricked into it... Sam knew the recruiters for this kind of job were manipulative bastards (the number of people who would jump onto the occasion was presumably restricted). What he saw when he looked at Dean Winchester was a caged man...eaten alive by his own past and its ramifications.

Desperately trying to make up for bad decisions, for what he´d probably see as a personal weakness, when it was just one of the many ways a war took ist toll on people.

Sam had seen worse.

At least, Dean Winchester still seemed to care.

Seemed to give his last bit of energy to right his past wrongs...

There were others who didn´t. Who just went on once they had chosen their way.

Finally, the doctor looked up.

Sam´s stomach clenched.

„_What do you mean, you´re DONE!"_

After all emotions had gone, vaporized in front of the unspeakable he´d done, there was only emptiness left. For weeks, he functioned like a machine, delivering more or less good results, sometimes getting them a break-through information, sometimes nothing but a corpse. And he was good at it. The best, according to the major. The perfect student.

Then something had started to replace the void.

Anger.

Growing like a tumor, hot and boiling in his stomach, invading his veins, finally dominating his thoughts.

And while part of him was still playing the grade A – pupil, a new person was forming inside him...the one that detested the functioning machine, yes; pitied it, even. But, most of all, it hated the one that had made him become such a despicable being in the first place. Its creator.

And that way, the loss of his humanity ironically had given him the strength to get out.

To quit...

He hadn´t seen the backlash coming , of course. The point where you came back into a normal life, lived amongst human beings again, not surrounded by machines just looking like humans. The return of the feelings. The first time you realized the emotions hadn´t been extinguished, but only buried somewhere deep inside you, preserved, like a desert plant waiting for the rain to come...

The moment when you found shattered pieces of your soul again, marred and burnt and twisted. And knew it would never be whole again.

And now, he´d told them. Those strangers.

Dean didn´t know what he´d expected...but there wasn´t a great weight lifted from his shoulders, and neither a cloud of guilt billowing over him...just the old, well known shame, and the pain engraved into him for so long now...

He hadn´t even told Sonny. The only person he had ever really trusted...even when he could tell Sonny knew something was eating him, when the man closest to a father figure in his life had even gone as far as to ask him directly what was going on. And if he could help. But the shame was too deep. If you had one person in the world whose judgement you cherished, would you give that person reason to...look at you as the monster you were? Or would you try to be something coming near to your old self, trying hard, until the role fit again, like an actor´s long-term character?

Still, it was a role.

Getting off the ship, Dean had gone to the place he´d called home for a few years only, but that had, after years of being tossed from place to place, actually felt like one. He´d planned to spend a few weeks there...the weeks turned into months, while he was helping Sonny with the boys, working on the fields, repairing the house, and every vehicle he could lay his hands on. He´d talked to Sonny about the war...but never about those two years. And he´d found a sort of calm again. Not peace...but a way to make the memories bearable. There would never be peace for him again, he knew that.

„You won´t change the past by letting it eat you alive", Sonny´d said, in his quiet way. „You can do one thing...make your present count. You´ve done it once, Dean. You can do it now, I know it. Don´t let some...something bad take that away from you."

So, he´d looked for ways to make his present count. Had been trying ever since.

And slowly, the role had become like a second skin, hiding the monster, keeping it inside.

Until the headaches started, and the dreams came back, and the monster pawed the ground deep down inside him.

_It was foolish to think one could escape destiny. The tale was carved into your bones, and you had to follow it...no way some threadbare layers of civilized humanity would swipe it away. You had a mission to complete, a good mission that would probably be more helpful than all the so called charity work...the evil was there, so you faced it, and turned it into a force. A strength._

_A means to an end._

Lost. He looked totally lost.

Sam stared into the green eyes, and he could tell the man across the table had no idea where he was or what he was doing here. For a few long seconds, a stranger was sitting there, a beautiful, frightened man, with the eyes of a child looking for someone to tell him mom would be back soon, and everything would be OK.

Sam had seen that kind of forlorness in his grandpa´s face, when the Alzheimer illness started to get bad.

Finding it in Dr. Winchester´s eyes scared the shit out of him.

He sat on a table in a room that looked slightly familiar, two men across from him he´d never seen before...although there was something in the younger one that made him search for help in his eyes. What was he doing here – and where was `here´ ? Who were the two sombre looking men? Panic crept up his stomach, filled his throat. What was this pounding inside his head, why did it hurt so much...what...

Dean stared into Agent Cambell´s shocked eyes. He shook his head to clear it of the fog that had invaded it, and immediately regretted the movement when the pain shot through it, white and hot, and the dizziness threatened to grip him for good. He tried to take a few even breaths without throwing up on the table, as he knew he was in no condition to get up and reach the men´s room...breathe in..breathe out...breathe in...out...

The room around him settled again, the floor was horizontal, Agent Cambell´s face more than a blurred patch. How much time had passed? He felt like he´d been asleep for a while...

Dean rubbed his eyes. It was the second time that happened...Dr. Mills had warned him. Once those "fits" started...

„We have to talk about that, Dean. You can´t – you won´t be able to work anymore once it effects your vision, your sense of balance...your depth perception. I can´t tell when that day will come, but it won´t ...it won´t be long now." She hadn´t looked pitiful, only sad. He was glad about it somehow.

„I´m sorry, Dean."

It wasn´t only work...it would be driving...then the use of his hands. Walking...speech...eyesight. It would take everything away, sometimes only small bites, sometimes huge chunks at a time. He had known all that...had been prepared...had seen enough patients suffer through the stages...yet it took him by surprise now how much it scared him all of a sudden.

Dammit. She´d said six, maybe eight months. It was only December.

He´d thought he´d have more time.

Somehow, it fit, didn´t it.

_In the end, you could make all the plans you wanted; they might always turn out useless if something unforeseen happened. Then you had to be smart enough, flexible enough to react. If time became a problem, he would have to be faster. That was that. If he had to break his routine for it – he wasn´t happy about it, far less than happy, but if that was what it took to reach the end of the list, he´d take the risk. _

_In the end, risk didn´t matter that much now any more._

Cas decided to call it a night when the doctor seemed to practically fall asleep at the table. They had everything they needed anyway...and if there were more questions, or some details to check ... well, he wouldn´t object to getting another chance to see that face again. Or, more likely, drool inwardly on it. He was a little embarrassed by how easily he had objectified the man...it was hard, though, not to be satisfied with Dr. Winchester´s beauty, his fantasy-stimulating sex appeal, even if the man obviously was worth every try to dig deeper into his personality.

„I´d say we´re done for today?", he said, seeking the other mens´ eyes. Winchester only nodded, otherwise not making a move though; and Campbell – Sam...well, if Cas was already worried about the doctor, Sam looked positively terrified by something. Or shocked. He shot Cas a glance and nodded, too, closed his laptop, and put it into his shoulder bag.

„I´ll go fetch Sally?" Sam got up, and waved at the waitress from the door.

When she came into the room, they paid; and Cas followed Sam out of the booth. Sally still stood at Winchester´s side, touching his shoulder briefly.

„Are you OK, dear? You don´t look so well...Should I maybe call you a cab?"

He finally looked up at that, and smiled faintly back at her. Again, the change in the surgeon´s face came as a surprise to Cas ...how he looked so much younger, like the memory of a boy that still lingered somewhere inside that tired man.

„No, thanks, Sally. I´m Ok..and it´s not far anyway. You know I love to drive..."

She padded his shoulder. Cas saw the short flinch in Winchester´s face.

„Ah, who doesn´t, dear...you and that bike of yours..." She gave Winchester an affectionate smile, nodded at Cas and Sam, and left.

Cas frowned.

„Your ride is a bike?"

The doctor nodded, and slowly climbed out of the booth. „Yes, why?"

Cas looked at the piled up folders, the rather big cardboard box.

„I thought you might want those when you write down your... observations. Can you transport the box on your motorbike?"

Winchester leant against the wooden board that separated one booth from the other. It looked casual enough, but he was gripping the edge a little too tight, like someone needing to stabilize himself. Then he let go, straightened himself up, and everything seemed normal again.

„I don´t...No. Guess not.", he simply said. „But I´ll not need the files tonight, or all day tomorrow, so maybe you could just bring them to my house?" The doctor looked at Sam first when he asked, and Cas was surprised at the tiny sting he felt at that. He saw the agent nod. „Of course..."

„Don´t leave it at the doorstep in case I´m not at home, though. In my neighborhood, that´s like an invitation to take it", Winchester said.

„Oh, we´d never leave case files – ah." Cas couldn´t help grinning when he saw Campbell blush, realizing he´d fallen for the joke. Or had it been more? A smile played around Winchesters´ lips, and crinkled the corners of his eyes. All of a sudden, the man seemed alive again. Cas had to will his hands to stay where they were – the urge to touch those lips, trace those lines around the surgeon´s eyes, was annoyingly strong. His grin deepened when he saw Campbell´s hand twitch. Man, the good doctor WAS a siren, and he had them both ...well, at their balls. Sadly enough, only figuratively.

„We´ll get the box to your house, Dr. Winchester", he said.

The man frowned, an stared at his boots for four, five seconds. What now!, Cas wondered silently.

„Dean", the doctor finally said, his voice gruff.

„I beg your pardon?" Campbell leaned forward a little. Winchester looked up, his eyes fixing on something on the agent´s chest, a little unfocused.

„You can call me Dean", he said.

And again, Cas was surprised. They´d spent the whole evening – and dammit, could it really be past eleven already? – with the man, and when Cas had finally decided the doctor was living the life of a hermit crab, and was overly reserved in all things social, he offered them to be on first name terms. Just when they were leaving, for God´s sake.

Cas wondered why he felt somehow annoyed by it, only for a moment, but still...then he saw the doctor raise his eyes, and the glimpse of vulnerability in the green eyes hit him...drove right down into his stomach.

Dammit. What was it with this man that made Cas drool over hot sex fantasies one moment and want to just take him in his arms and tell him he didn´t have to shoulder all the evil in the world alone the next.

„I´m Cas", he growled, extending his hand.

Winchester shook it briefly, and looked a little awkward, as if he´d surprised himself by his offer, and equally bewildered when Campbell grasped his hand, shook it too, and said. „I´m Samm- ...I´m Sam."

They stood in front of the pub, shivering in the cold wind after the warmth inside.

„We´ll be in touch?", Cas said, burying his hands in the pockets of the trench coat.

Winchester nodded briefly.

„You have my number?"

„Yes", Sam answered. A weird feeling spread inside his stomach. It grew stronger while he watched the doctor turn and cross the street, shoulders hunched against the cold. His bowlegs showed clearly, and Sam remembered the old black&white movies he used to watch with his granddad...the dark figure in front of the brightly lit hospital entrance, an empty street stretching to the left and right; bare trees swaying in the wind. A silhouette, vanishing in the depth of the building.

Sam kept staring at the glass and concrete front, wondering how someone he´d just met that day could leave such a hole in his chest.

„You coming?", he heard Cas shout from the direction of the car.

He tore his eyes from the hospital, and walked over to Novak.

The detective watched him from across the car´s roof top.

„Are you OK?"

Sam shrugged his shoulders. Honestly, he couldn´t tell.

They climbed in, and Cas started the engine.

He glanced over at Sam, his hands on the wheel. „Your motel?"

For a moment, Sam had almost forgotten their flirtation, the heat that had constantly built up during the last two days. Now, with two short words, it came all back within an instant. A hot wave.

„Yes", he croaked, voice hoarse.

Oh man, yes. He´d think about this strange Dr. Winchester, and the even stranger effect the doctor had on him, later. Now, there was Cas, and they were going to Sam´s room, and then...yes. Hells, YES!

The moment the motel room´s door closed behind them, Cas felt himself slammed against the wall, Sam´s hands pinning his own against the rough wallpaper above his head. YES. God, he´d waited for this since the tall agent had climbed into his car the day before. For a few seconds, they just stood like that, Sam´s head bowed so his lips touched Cas´ hairline; Cas felt Sam´s quickened breaths in his hair, and every one of them sent a shiver of pleasure through his longing body, until he couldn´t stand it any more, and thrust his hips against Sam´s, slowly starting to grind. He felt the agent´s lips tighten in a smile. Bastard. Incredibly hot, teasing bastard, who now reciprocated Cas´ movements, pressing against him, and rolling his hips oh so slowly, rubbing their groins against each other, up, down, a fluent motion following the lengths of their already half hard cocks, and Cas knew he´d come right there if they didn´t...

„Slow down, slow...slow down, please..." he panted against Sam´s ear. Jesus. Sam stopped moving. From the agent´s heavy breathing, and from the hard outline of his penis Cas felt so mind-robbingly pressed against his own, he could tell the other man wasn´t far from the edge, either... seemed they both had needed that dearly, had wanted it so badly their bodies wered just trying to get it as fast as possible, fast forward them to the edge...but no. NO. He wanted this need to last, just a little longer, just a little more of that sweet, delicious torture...

„Let´s- take- a- shower...", he heard Sam´s hardly controlled voice, felt the puffs of air in his hair, and it almost was enough to let him forget about the delay...

Sam let go of his hands, stepped back a little, and grabbed the collar of Cas´ coat. „Let´s get rid of those", he croaked, already pushing the coat off Cas´ shoulders. Oh yes. The thought of how the agent´s skin might feel under his hands...this firm, muscular chest, such a tease for the last two days..."Yes...", he sighed, surprised by how needy his voice sounded, edging on desperate...he pulled Sam´s shirt out of the waistband of his trousers, fumbled with the buttons until the agent impatiently knocked his hands away, shrugged out of his jacket, and pulled the shirt over his head together with the loosened tie; the white T- shirt followed and sailed to the floor.

Oh sweet motherfucking lord... Campbell´s chest was everything he´d dreamed about for ..approximately 40 hours now...and more. Because now, it was right in front of his face, smooth skin, shining slightly from the thin layer of sweat...and the scent filling Cas´ nose sent another jolt of pleasure through his groin...he felt strong hands pull the coat off him, tug at his shirt, and open his belt, all in a hurry, and he felt Sam´s hands were shaking, because he, too, had the pleasure fill him, hot steam looking for a valve in the pressure cooker.

Cas opened the agent´s belt, too, shoved the trousers down the narrow hips, and no, he couldn´t resist, he had to grab that ass, those firm, perfect buttcheeks, and –

„Hey!"

Sam had slapped his hands away, and grinned at him, panting, his face red and heated and gorgeous.

„Shower!", he said, and Cas shivered at the peremptory tone.

Sam pulled down Cas´ trousers, too, then his fingers were under his boxers´ waistband, running along it from the small of his back, just resting on his hipbones for a moment, giving them a little caress that made Cas moan; and wandered to his belly, teasing, oh so teasing, just ghosting over the dark line of hair leading to...oh, man. Cas closed his eyes, he tried to keep the moan inside this time... wasn´t sure he´d make it to the shower...no...

„Please, Sam...", his voice not more than a growl, so needy, so longing for it...

„Shower", was all the agent whispered, hoarsely, and Cas could hear the effort it cost the tall man not to go on with their game right there...he felt his hand grabbed, and opened his eyes in surprise. Campbell just janked him along, Cas stumbled over the heap of clothes on the floor, pulled by the taller man´s force, loosing their shoes on the way, and then they were in the tiny bathroom, and the shower´s gliding door banged against the frame; Sam stopped, and bent forward to turn on the water, Cas saw the muscles in his back move, and before the agent could step into the shower cubicle, Cas had his hands under the elastic of his tight pants, and there it was, oh bloody fucking hell, hard and long and freaking huge, and twitching under Cas´ fingers, jesus what a cock, and Cas felt his own grow hard just thinking of how...

„Cas..." Sam´s voice was desperate, strangled, he grabbed the shower cabin´s frame so tightly it creaked dangerously, and honestly, Cas wondered how the agent could still hold it together with a cock that hard...he pushed Sam´s pants down, feeling the other man´s legs shiver, the goosebumps on his skin. Dammit, he wanted it. NOW. He pushed against Sam´s back, and janked him around; Sam, practically jerking from the effort it took him to control himself, let Cas take the lead, and it was Cas´turn to slam someone against the wall...the hot water hit him as a surprise, he hadn´t even thought about it, too engrossed in feeling this gorgeous man under his hands...and then they both moaned, because man, they were in the shower, naked, and wet, water running down their heads, and Cas knew he wouldn´t last for more than a few minutes now, and even that would be an effort...and he had his hands on Sam´s chest, felt his hard nipples , and went down, just let his body slide down along Sam´s, until he knelt before the other man, and holy fuck, that perfect cock was right in front of his face, pink and hard and with water pearling down the smooth surface, a magnificent, marvellous sight, and Cas wanted it, wanted it now...wanted to taste it, take it, have it. He grabbed Sam´s hips with his hands, pressing him against the wet tiles, and swallowed his cock without any warning.

It was enough to make the other man jerk forward in a desperate move, Cas had to force him against the wall, keeping him there, so he could let his lips glide along the itching cock in his mouth, up to the base, down to the head again, up, down, his tongue feeling the pumping, swollen veins, the smooth, perfect rim of the head, tasting the precome already, and all the time he heard Sam´s strangled moans, felt the shivers running through his body, and hardly could control his own, and hell, it was he who made those sounds, humming around Sam´s cock in his mouth, a deep animalistic growl, holy freaking f...he let his tongue find the slit, explore it, lick the precome and water, and when he sucked in the whole cock again, he knew Sam was done. He released the man´s hips, finally, and Sam jerked forward, and he thrusted, and Cas took his gorgeous cock down whole, to the base, felt the head touch the back of his throat, his eyes were watering, but, hell, yes, it was good, and he wanted more, and grabbed Sam´s ass, pushing him even deeper into his mouth, he wanted that cock deeper, deeper, and when Sam came with a strangled cry, he swallowed, and swallowed, feeling the pumping cock hit his throat, like it had a life of its own, and he tasted Sam, oh the fuck he was good, luscious, creamy, and salty, and perfect, and he took him, took him, took him, swallowed him, owned him, and bloody hell, he was coming too, without even touching his cock, he felt that hot wave jolt through his body right before the relief came, and he felt himself jerk, and thrust, without control, burying his fingers in Sam´s ass, and YES YES YES that was it YES please oh YES motherfucking YES

When Sam was finally spent, and sagging against the tiles, legs shaking, Cas let his soft cock glide out of his mouth; he leant his head against the other man´s groin with closed eyes, buried his nose in the dark curly hair, took in the musky, delicious scent. They were both panting, gasping for air, and Cas only realized now they were standing in a cloud of steam, and that the water was still drumming on his head, filling his eyes, and ears, tickling down his spine.

Sam murmured something incomprehensible, his voice sounded strained, hoarse...and then Cas felt those big, slender hands on the sides of his head, they covered his ears, the fingers gliding through his wet hair, touching the sensitive skin on the back of his head...and Sam slid down the wall with a sigh, until he sat in front of Cas, and they just stared at each other for seconds, water dripping down their hair, their faces, down Sam´s heaving chest, the perfectly shaped muscles of his upper arms...and Cas leant forward again, turned around so he could sit between Sam´s long legs, he felt his knees protest and creak, and didn´t care, and they both sunk back against the tiles, spent and tired and elated and dammit, Cas had never been so ...satisfied in his life, and he hadn´t exactly been a saint, had he...

He felt Sam reach up and turn off the water, and then his arms were around Cas´ shoulders, slid down and rested on his waist, lower arms crossed on Cas´ lap. It felt good...natural, like they just belonged there...

He let his head fall back against the other man´s shoulder with a sigh.

„Jesus..."

Seconds passed, water dripping, gurgling in the sink.

Then Sam´s chest rumbled and made Cas´ head bounce.

„No, it´s Sam...remember?", he drawled, „your pain-in-the-ass FBI contact...but thanks for the heavenly upgrade."

Cas smiled, then grinned, then laughed hoarsely.

„I didn´t take you for...the type that jokes...afterwards."

He heard the deep sound of Sam´s laugh, felt it even resonating in his own body.

„I er...I try to hide my utter ...blown away speechless mind...by talking."

„Blown away, huh", Cas murmured. He felt Sam go still behind him for a moment, and then...he laughed. Cas turned around to watch him, and man, the agent had his head bent back against the wall, wet strands of hair clinging to his face, and laughed out loud, happy and satisfied and young and jeez his dimples were adorable and Cas couldn´t help but had to laugh too, and touch that face, trace those dimples, wipe the water off those cheeks...Sam closed his eyes, his chest rumbled with the last laughing sounds, and then he just let Cas´ fingers explore his wet face...Cas turned around fully now, was on his knees again (dammit, he would regret that tomorrow...well, no, he wouldn´t), and this time, his hands were patient, and gentle, tracing Sam´s brows, brushing the water drops off his dark lashes, caressing the cheekbones, the chin, touching the cleft in it...and another face floated through his mind, a freckled nose...dark shadows under stunning eyes...and he almost felt the other man there with them in the crammed shower cabin, pressed against his back, his hands workin their way down his shoulders, his chest, tickling his nipples, dammit, he could almost feel those lips on his neck, teeth, and then the magic hands reached his groin, and fuck it was hot, he had Sam right there in front of him, his face under his hands, his lips were slightly parted, eyes still closed in pleasure, and Cas leant foward and kissed him, gently first, but heck there were still those hands, gripping his hips now, the hipbones, and oh jeez he was getting hard again...his kiss got less gentle, more urgent, and Sam opened his eyes, surprised, and the moan he let out right into Cas´ mouth was enough to make Cas shiver with barely controlled want again...and then real hands were on his back, huge ones, and slender fingers were wandering down his still wet spine, grabbing his ass, pulling him nearer, and they kissed passionately now, hard on each others´ mouths, biting and sucking. The steam had evaporated through the shower cabin´s open sliding door, cold air crept in, and made them shiver, and Sam pushed Cas back, eyes wild.

„We have to get out of here..."

Cas nodded, he got to his feet with a grimace, and pulled Sam up; they stood there for a second, shivering from the cold and from anticipation, staring at each other, and dammit the agent was half hard again, fuck, more than half, and Cas knew his own cock was pretty longing for action again too...then he gasped with surprise when he had his head rubbed with a towel, he hadn´t seen Campbell grab for it... it was weird being dried down by someone else, he hadn´t had somebody do this since his childhood...Sam crouched down, even towelling his legs; Cas reached for the other towel on the wall outside, finally getting a grip on it, and starting to rub the agent´s long, dripping strands with it. Sam looked up, smiling, he got up, and now all Cas could reach were his shoulders, chest and waist, he dabbed them as good as he could, the tall man´s eyes on his face all the time, serious now, the longing clearly taking over again...and then Sam bent down, took his face in his huge hands, and kissed him, let his lips wander over his face, his eyes, his brows, until they found Cas´ lips again...Cas let go of the wet towel, he grabbed Sam´s waist, gently pushed him back.

The agent stepped back, looking at him questionigly, and a little confused; Cas stepped out of the shower cabin carefully, and went into the bedroom, throwing Sam a glance over his shoulder...and then he was thrown down on the bed, a massive body pinning him down on the matrass, his arms immobilized once more by those strong hands...oh God, he was so turned on he was gasping for air again, and yes, the agent was grinding his hips against his groin again, slowly, he was such a tease, a damn tease, and Cas moaned, oh yes, their still moist cocks rubbed against each other, and it felt good, GOOD, he raised his hips to get more, more again, could he ever get enough of this? Sam pushed his legs apart with his body, still grinding, and rubbing, and Cas writhed under him, parting his legs more, moaning, so needy, dammit how could he be so needy again after...oh jeez. The smooth, hard, already leaking head of Sam´s head pressed against his hole, and oh god yes he wanted him inside him, wanted this gorgeous cock to fill him...

He heard Sam´s voice, didn´t understand him at first, what was he...no, don´t stop, don´t take that godly pressure away, no..

„..lube...", he finally understood, „...get some lube..." and oh, ok, lube maybe wasnt such a bad idea, he hadn´t ...hadn´t done this in a while, despite living alone now, somehow the whole divorce thing had taken away more than his money, his appartment, and most of his social contacts..

The bed creaked, and then Sam was back again, opening a sachet with his teeth, and Cas watched him with hooded eyes while he was pressing out the lube on his hand, and then bloody hell he took his huge hard motherfucking perfect cock in his hand and stroked it, staring into Cas´ eyes all the time, and oh fucking yes his fingers touched Cas´ hole now, running around the rim once, twice, and then Cas jerked when he felt one, then the second finger enter him a moment later, and push in, and whirl, and stretch, and dammit yes this was the spot, the damn man was a god, his fingers were pure bliss, burning and yes hurting but GOD YES THIS IS THE SPOT YES...Cas was writhing, and jeez was he making those sounds, he wasn´t even sure, and no, dont pull out those fingers, no - and YES.

Sams´ cock hoovered above Cas´ hole just for an instant, barely touching it, and Cas thought he might die right there from the pleasure of knowing, just KNOWING what was to come...and then Sam pushed in, one long, steady movement, right down until Cas felt his balls slap against his butt...and jesus had he screamed? Fuck who cared...

Sam pulled out almost completely, only to thrust in deep again, three, four slow moves, until his movements got faster, harder, oh man yes, push, push, come on baby, did he just say that aloud, pant it into the ear above his lips, into the mane of hair still damp from the shower and from sweat, and yes, faster, please, and deeper, Cas´ head banged against the bed´s headboard with each thrust, but fuck who cared! And he wrapped his legs around Sam´s back, raised his hips as much as he could, and thrust back, panting, shivering, and dammit he was crying it was so good, and dont stop, please dont stop, let it never end, just push, push, go on, please, push, and...YES YES YES

He felt Sam going over the edge too, shivering violently just like himself, and they were clinging to each other, panting and gasping for air and hardly able to ride it out properly for all the unvoluntary jerking.

Then Sam finally stilled, and Cas let his cramping legs fall on the bed, they felt like dead...Sam pulled out, fell down on the bed at his side, chest heaving, he was covered in sweat, so was Cas, he realized, and for minutes they just lay there, panting, feeling their pulse calm down.

Bloody Hell.

Sam felt as if he´d spent every freaking ounce of energy his body might have hidden somewhere. And at the same time, it was like...being drunk, or high, but without all the unpleasant side effects...

They should probably get cleaned up, and Cas should maybe leave, they worked together, and it could get them into troubles eventually to have...this...but all Sam did was lie there, and listen to Cas´ heavy breathing slowing down, and his own panting sounds...he shivered, the sweat was drying on his skin, and he felt Cas move at his side; the detective (it was weird thinking of him in this terms now) sat up, and pulled the sheets up to their chests, and just fell down on the bed again, he too drained and tired and filled to the rim with ...satisfied exhaustion... Sam snuggled into the sheets and the blanket, his brain seemed to slow down, he felt Cas´ warm skin against his, smelled the scent of sex on him, on both of them, and a bit of shampoo, and sweat, and some pleasantly dry scent reminding him of old wood lying in the sun. His mind drifted, he couldn´t grab proper thoughts any more, and within another few minutes, he was fast asleep.

The garage door was bitching again, and after the third try to open it with the remote control, Dean got off the bike, pushed out the stand, and for a moment considerated just leaving the motorbike in the driveway over the night. It would probably be stolen, his comment to Agent Campbell earlier actually hadn´t entirely been a joke...but did it matter any more? He would´t be driving much longer anyway. With a sigh, he walked over to the garage door, and heaved it up after unlocking it with the extra key, grunting; the damn thing was pretty heavy.

He rolled the bike in, parked it, and slowly went into the kitchen. The few stairs seemed to have grown, or his legs were just filled with lead today...the drive had been good, though, he felt much better, maybe the pills finally kicked in, he´d taken a double dose after all.

Dean leant against the counter, rubbing his cold face. He´d miss the drives.

Hell, he´d miss talking, and reading, and using his hands, and watching soccer and marvel movies and his favorite shows and listening to Rock music and running until his legs shook, and looking at the clouds from the roof of the hospital and seeing the sun´s reflection on the sea. Even Jo´s frown. He´d miss to hear Garth´s laugh and Ellen´s rough voice and Rashid´s sing sang chatter. Touching things. Touching someone.

He´d miss life.

And that was strange, because he hadn´t expected he would.

More out of habit, he went over to the fridge and opened it. The half-eaten curry still sat there in its box, the salad and all the stuff Dean had bought in his euphoria after his run yesterday...feeling good, and not having pain stab his head for once.

He knew he wouldn´t be able to eat anything of it, not unless he was blessed enough to have another good evening, and after today´s experiences he doubted the odds were on his side.

But then at the moment he felt relatively Ok, and he´d just take a shower and try to sleep, as long as possible...every hour a gift, right? That was what the therapist had said, back then when he came back..."Look at the things that work, Dean, and take them as a gift...you are gifted, with skills and talents and people who care for you, and that´s the point where you´ll have to build your life again..."

He had. Built his life. Working at the Boys´ Home with Sonny first, until he felt grounded enough again...or maybe just human. Had worked for UNICEF at that incredibly small and badly equipped hospital down in Haiti and met Jo and when he came back it seemed only natural to apply for a job at the same hospital where she was employed. Their relationship had not been your classical boy meets girl/dating/engagement/marriage one way street...rather a loose and laid back matter of enjoying time together. But in the end, they´d been seen as a couple by everyone, and Jo had always had his back when the dark days hit him, the memories threatened to poison the present. It had worked for almost a year, hadn´t it...until he realized the headaches weren´t going away, were, on the contrary, getting worse and worse, and then the insomnia started, the dreams came back, and everything he´d built had proved to be only a house of cards.

He left his boots and jacket right on the floor in the kitchen, and shuffled to the bathroom. The hot water was blissful, he felt his muscles relax...and found himself thinking about the two men he´d spent the evening with, the somehow enigmatic Detective Novak who sometimes seemed to see right through all his barriers and armors, and the gorgeous young agent...Sam.

Maybe it was the name, he had a weakness for it ever since...that long ago time...but no, the tall agent was adorable, he´d be even if his name was Percival or Lancelot..and why did he think of those names now, when they´d been the ones of the stories he´d read to the other Sam back then, his Sam, who of course wasn´t his, and hadn´t he learned that the hard way.

Some company in the shower would have been nice...the two guys sure as hell had some action going on right now, the way they´d barely managed to keep their hands off each other, he wouldn´t have minded having them make out right here in his bathroom...get some action while it was still possible. While he was still functioning. Yeah..he would miss THAT, too.

When the water started cooling down, he rubbed his skin until it was red and dry, walked over to his bedroom, slipped under the sheets, barely lifting them, and lay there, staring into the darkness, lit now and then by a car´s headlights passing the street behind the back yard despite the late hour. Closing his eyes, he saw Agent Campbell´s face, the worried frown, and the youthful laugh with the deep dimples showing, that had made his heart stop for a second because it looked so familiar.

The God of Sleep was generous, and Dean felt himself drifting away into the darkness soon.

**Day 4**

5 am. Cas put the motel alarm clock back on the night stand. A good time to get up, and home, and make everything look normal and professional. He stayed in bed for another five minutes, though, listening to agent Campbell´s deep breaths. He felt the urge to send a prayer to whatever god, goddess or other supernatural entity was considered to be responsible for mind blowing sex experiences, and burn candles and incense in abundance at their altar.

When he finally climbed out of the motel bed, trying not to make the mattress move too much, he felt sore, but it only made him smile...it was the kind of sore he´d take with a bow any time...

He got his pants from the bathroom after a minute of consideration, picked his trousers and shirt out of the heap at the entrance door, and hung Sam´s clothes over the chair at the small table. His coat was creased and crumpled, looking more Columbo-ish than ever. Smiling, he looked down at the sleeping Campbell, who looked young and carefree with his hair all tangled and his long arms spread wide over the bed.

Seeing the white paper and ballpoints on the table, he wrote a short note for the agent, and left the room, closing the door silently behind him, and he was still smiling after the first miles on the road to his apartment.

Again, he woke up with a jolt, and stumbled over to the bathroom, just making it in time to the toilet before the retching began. It went on, long after he´d thrown up the coffee and the beer and the few bites of pie, drawing his whole body together in painful contractions, until his arms shook against the wall and the sink he gripped tightly, and he could hardly keep himself upright any more...and then it finally ceased, and he sank down to the floor, leaning his head back against the wall, the faint sour aftertaste filling his mouth...there were upsides to losing your sense of taste. Take it as a gift, Dean...he almost laughed, or had, if he hadn´t been too exhausted. When the shaking stopped, and his stomach unclenched itself a little, he came to his feet again, legs trembling.

His mirror had turned into a distorting one, his face was his, but it didn´t look right, it looked like taken apart and put together the wrong way, like that little potatoe man in that movie...that...what was its name? There was that cowboy, and...a space ranger, and...the name...the cowboy was...dammit, why couldn´t he remember, he never forgot anything about a movie, much less one he´d seen so many times, watched it with the kids at the hospital, had known the lines by heart, especially the one line the space ranger said, it was ...the pictures were there, but ...no names. No lines. No clue.

Dean stared at his torn face in the mirror.

He couldnt remember. The words were like wiped out of his brain, erased, a deleted file.

He felt so scared he was hardly able to breathe.

Sam was woken by the sound of a car starting in front of the motel. It was still dark, and probably pretty early, as the incessant rumble of the traffic ouside hadn´t started yet. He stretched, and moaned. Dammit, his whole body felt sore and stiff as if he – holy crap.

He sat up with a jerk, and looked at the other side of the double bed. It was empty..but the sheets were tangled, and he could still see the indentation a body had left there...Cas´ body. Sam fell down on the bed again. OH MY GOD. He´d had sex with the man he was supposed to work with...on a strictly professional basis, that was. This could mean a lot of trouble for both of them – Sam could already hear the IA guy´s falsely friendly voice, „Why didn´t you just wait until the case was solved, agent Campbell, you could have had all the sexual intercourse you wanted with detective Novak once your ...professional... relationship had ended..." and yes, he could also clearly hear the undertone, the things the guy wouldn´t say out loud right to his face, but probably tell his buddies later on at their third beer, „those fucking faggots did it the first possible minute, they couldn´t even wait a day or two, just pounced upon each other like the animals they are...fucking hares".

He rolled over to Cas´ side (so, it was already Cas´ side now), burying his nose in the pillow...he smelled the scent that already started to become familiar...it calmed his anger down. Brought back the good feeling.

He climbed out of bed to fetch his laptop from the table, and found a note there, scribbled by Cas, obviously.

„Good Morning ...see u 9am at headquarters? Please take box/files to Dr. Winchester, house is on your way to the precinct, W starts shift at 8.00. Cas"

Sam stared at the words. Cas had a nice handwriting, unexpectedly neat, slanted, a little old-fashioned. The box sat on the floor right next to the table. Sam looked at his wristwatch. 5.20. He stared out of the window for a few minutes, thinking of Dr. Winchester. Would he be up already? Shift at 8...how on earth had Cas thought of jotting the doctor´s working hours down...well, there was a reason the detective had a brilliant record.

W... A pale face, freckled, and always so guarded. Sam closed his eyes. He had the doctor´s beautiful features right in front of him, so vivid it made him shiver. Those eyes. He rememberd the few scary moments when Winchester had seemed totally out of it. Lost in space...he could probably get some information out of the hospital´s data, provided Winchester was sick somehow and got treated at his work needed to be sure their expert and future witness wasn´t – wasn´t going to. ..was doing alright.

He stared from the window to the box, to the window again. Saw a freckled face in the reflections, a hunched figure crossing a dark street...

What the hell. He´d take a shower and just go see if the doctor was up and still home.

Dean knew there´d be no more sleep that night. He´d go work on his car – he´d have to push things a little there if he ever wanted...if he wanted to live to the day the Impala was leaving her cage. Well, that was how people put it, right? Only most times they didn´t mean it as literally.

Music filled the back garage, not too loud (there were people who actually slept at 3am), the heater was blowing hot air into the room, and Dean had already put together the parts he´d cleaned, complemented by a few things he´d ordered online, and now he could build the whole thing into the motor again...a few adjustments, and the car should be ready to have her first prison break in years. There would be still tons of little parts to repair, replace, but the most important thing was that he got her on the road again.

He lost the sense of time, just enjoying the work, the smell, the way the parts fit together as they were meant to.

At six, he went back to the front garage to stow a few items there, pretty satisfied with the car´s progress. Looked like he´d get to drive his Baby before it was too late after all.

Sam pressed the doorbell, his other arm wrapped around the huge cardboard box. He heard the bell resonate loud and clear inside the house. It was only six am...a little early for a visit. Sam didn´t even want to know what Winchester would think of him standig at his doorstep at this unusual hour.

To his surprise, he heard Winchester´s voice from the garage at the right to the entrance door. The massive door was slowly pushed up from the inside, and the doctor´s voice grew louder.

„I´m coming...whoever ´s out there at...jeez, it´s 6.05! Man, whatever you want, it can´t be that – oh."

Winchester stood in the garage´s door, a tin box with what looked like rusty motor parts in it in one hand, the other still raised above his head to hold the heavy door. He had black grease everywhere, on his hands, arms, T-shirt, the faded jeans, even on one cheek and brow, and looked, Sam had to confess to himself, gorgeous and rebellious and so beautiful it hurt. He almost let the box drop.

„Ah...yeah. Ahem...sorry, I – I was on my way to the ..er..headquarter, and just wanted to... er ...bring you these." He stood there, feeling as awkward as one possibly could, well aware that he´d blushed and that his pants were uncomfortably tight all of a sudden. This was crazy. He came from the best sex he´d had in his life, and right now his cock felt like having another round.

Winchester just stood there, looking at him, immobile and beautiful like a statue. Then he nodded. „Would you like some breakfast? Or coffee? I guess you won´t meet anyone but the grumpy night shift at the precinct before 7.30."

Sam felt his heart make a weird little jump, and his cock an interested twitch. Oh yes, he wanted...breakfast, coffee, those lips on him, whatever, he would come inside just to share some air with the man.

„Yes, that...that would be nice, thank you."

Winchester made a minimal jerking move with his head, so Sam went down the few steps and joined the doctor at the garage door. Once inside, Winchester – Dean, he could call him Dean now – let the door roll down slowly, went to the back wall and crouched down in front of a long wooden working counter. He stowed the tin box beneath it, taking out a screw and throwing it into one of the many other cans and boxes there. Sam watched him get up again, gripping the counter tightly.

„We can go inside from here", the surgeon said, leading the way to an iron door and a few steps at the corner of the garage. Sam passed the old Kawasaki motorbike – so that was Winchester´s ride, a pretty cool one at that – and waited for the doctor to go inside. He did so rather slowly, leaning his arm against the wall for support.

They entered a small kitchen, with a door to the backyard, where another garage formed a barrier against the next yard. It was a well proportioned room, nicely furnished, and very clean; it looked practically unused. Well, it probably was, Sam thought, remembering the doctor´s reluctance to eat the whole evening, and his obvious weight loss.

He stumbled over something, and this time, the box slipped out of his arms for good, landing on the floor with a thump and spilling files and folders.

„Oh, crap!"

Winchester turned around from the refrigerator where he´d been headed.

„Oh, jeez..."

He crouched down in front of Sam, grabbing for files that had slided over the floor, and reaching them over to Sam. Sam stammered, flustered by the fact Dean Winchester´s face had just been inches from his „Thanks...sorry, man. Didn´t want to make an entrance here, I just..." He looked at the leather biker jacket he had stumbled over. So did Winchester, with a slight frown. „Not your fault. I shouldn´t have left my stuff on the floor...I´m alone here mostly, you forget to...consider things like that..."

Sam watched the man´s face furtively, while stowing the files back into the slightly battered box. Dammit, those freckles...and the eyelashes, fluttering over the delicate skin...curly, and unexpectedly dark, they sure bleached in the summer sun, while the freckles would become darker, and Sam imagined that nosebridge slightly sunburnt, sand clinging to the cheeks and dry grass in the tangled sun bleached hair, and had no idea where those pictures came from, and why they were making him sad.

„So...you´re living alone here", Sam made a feeble attempt on small talk, mostly to get the disturbing feeling out of his stomach, and could have slapped himself the moment the words were out of his mouth. Great starter, really.

Winchester looked up from the folder he was putting a few pages back into that had slipped out.

„Yeah.." He reached the folder over. Sam took it, put it in the box, and looked up surprised when the doctor went on.

„Bought the place two years ago..mostly because of the garages."

Winchester looked as stunned by his own words as Sam.

Sam took the bait. When this man was opening his oyster shell slightly for once, you had to get in through the gap as fast as you could.

„Garages? There´s more than the one we came in through?"

Winchester looked at the glass paned back door. „Yeah...", he said again, and Sam was afraid he´d leave it at that when nothing else followed. But then, the doctor reached over the last two files, and said, „Wanna see something?"

Sam had the fleeting image of his Dad ghosting through his head for a moment, telling him in serious tones that „...you never, EVER go with someone who promises to show you something nice, Sam. You hear me? No matter what it is...there are bad people out there, and they use tricks, you know?" He´d been scared a little back then...his Dad had been dead serious, and a little worried, and Sam had promised everything he wanted just to get the frown off his father´s face.

„Sure", he said now, smiling faintly at the memory. He was a big boy now, wasn´t he...and whatever Dean Winchester was going to show him, be it a collection of vinyl records (he somehow seemed the type) or twenty boring folders full of old stamps (less likely), or his red room of pain, he´d happily go with him.

„It´s not a secret torture cellar, is it? Cause you know, my Dad always warned me dearly...you know." At Sam´s words, Winchester, who was just getting to his feet a little heavily, froze. He stood there for almost three seconds, completely immobile, and Sam fumbled with the boxes´ lid, feeling horribly awkward. Had he said something wrong? It was meant to be a joke, and after two days in detective Novak´s company, he´d slipped into using that ironic, teasing tone that came kind of naturally to him given the right people around him...but maybe Winchester wasn´t one of them, maybe he was a serious person, he´d been an army combat surgeon for Christ´s sake, how could you get more serious and focused, and-

He looked up at the sound coming from above, realizing the doctor was chuckling.

He watched Sam´s red face with a slight grin.

„I can promise you it´s not a torture cellar...or a cellar of any kind. Not even a plush S&M parlour, I´m afraid." Sam got to his feet, blushing even more (well, that was exactly what he´d thought of, wasn´t it?).

„Do you like cars?", Winchester asked over his shoulder, already half out the back door.

Cars! Oh.

„Depends", he said, chosing the honest answer, catching up with the doctor. Winchester shot him a glance. „At least you´re straightforward", he said, the grin tugging at his lips again. „But don´t worry, I´ll not pester you about camshafts and engine performances..."

Sam thought he´d probably listen to the man´s gruff voice even reading the telephone book to him, and very likely get a hard-on doing so...but he only smiled back at the surgeon.

„Now I´m hooked", he said. „I saw your old bike in the garage...do you repair it all by yourself? I noticed the tools and stuff..."

Winchester shrugged, already opening the second, much bigger, garages´sliding doors. „I do some motor handicrafts...", he answered. „Wait a moment..."

When the lights went on, Sam stared at the black car jacked up inside.

„Wow..." the word had escaped him unvoluntarily.

„She´s a beauty, isn´t she...", Winchester murmured, caressing the bolt ouline of the car´s rear side. „1967 Chevvy Impala. The designer should have won an award for that chassis if you ask me..."

Sam stepped nearer, touching the highly polished chrome lining around the car´s windows.

„She, huh?"

Winchester – dammit, why couldn´t he just think of him as DEAN – looked up from the open hood. „Of course, SHE. Look at that body, man. And then...her insides have been bitching a lot, it´s like having your classical PMSing lady around, you know..." He grinned at Sam, fully this time, and Sam wanted to go over and touch this face so badly he had to find a destraction ASAP or...

He joined the doctor – DEAN – at the hood. „Oh...wow. So that´s what you call `some handicrafts´ , huh." Someone was working on that car, someone who clearly knew what he was doing.

„You seem quite the expert to me..."

Winchester shrugged, and even blushed a little. Sam wondered why the compliment embarrassed him. „Been repairing cars like..all my life. Well, not all of it, obviously, just...the better part of it. Had a great teacher..."

Sam nodded. „Great hobby. I wonder how you find the time, with your working hours and all..."

Winchester closed the hood. „I don´t sleep much", he simply said. Well, he sure looked like it, Sam thought. In fact, he looked like someone who hadn´t slept at all for a pretty long time.

The doctor leant against the side of the car, rubbing his eyes, and front. His lips were pressed together tightly.

„Headache?", Sam asked, athough the answer was pretty clear.

„You´ve got no idea...", Winchester murmured, words slightly slurred.

Sam hesitated. „Er, I...I did classes at college...relaxing massage techniques? If you...I could give you a massage , if you want...many times, it´s knotted muscles causing really bad headaches..." Dammit, did he really just ask the man if...Jesus.

But if Winchester found the offer a little weird, he didnt show; in fact, his face was torn into a grimace of pain, he had the heels of his hands pressed against his eyes for a moment, then the pain seemed to ease.

„A...massage..would be...great", he mumbled. „Been wanting to get one for ages..."

Sam stepped nearer then. Well – so he´d give the hottest man he´d met in a long time – aside from Cas, of course – a massage. Without any...undertones. As far as he knew, the man was straight, so he´d just have to keep it together and make his cock behave. Easy.

Except it wasn´t.

„Er...so...turn around?", he asked, and Winchester gave him an enigmatic look, before turning. „Er...you can lean on the car, yes...just put your arms on the roof...OK. I´ll start then, if that´s OK."

He heard a mumbled sound from Winchester, who´d laid his head on his arms. Sam stepped close, until he practically stood leg to leg with the man (except, it was butt-to-cock, and hell-on-fire how had he believed this could be anything else but a weak excuse for exactly that? But still, Winchester didn´t seem to mind, so...). Sam rubbed his hands together to warm them a little (Dean had turned on the heater when they came in, it wasn´t exactly hot in the garage, but warm enough). He started on the man´s shoulders, kneeding them, feeling the knots (lots of them) with his thumbs, trying to work them out with pressing, circling, stroking movements...Winchester flinched a few times, but when Sam hesitated, he just murmured, „Go on..please...".

It was difficult with the shirt and sweater coming in the way, and after a few minutes, Winchester lifted his head, said, „Wait ..", and just pulled the sweater over his head, together with the t-shirt. He used the clothes as a cushion, and just took in his earlier position, leaving Sam with a prime view of his back. And the scars. Sam cursed silently, remembering the report he´d read... the doctor had been shot and wounded badly by fragments and splinters, and you could easily read that from the skin of his shoulder and side...and he had worked right over the scar tissue like an idiot. It must have hurt, and he wondered why Winchester hadn´t said anything. He let his fingers wander over the distorted skin, the red and bluish patches, gently now, like a blind man reading something in Braille script, and felt the surgeon shiver under the touch.

The scars tore all the attention from the rest of Dean´s back, and wow, wandering over it with his eyes and hands, Sam gave it the proper appreciation...what a back that was. Broad, and strong, althoug Sam could tell the muscles went back to a training that lay a while back in time, and the signs of the weight loss were pretty obvious, ribs showing already...but jeez, there were the freckles again, forming little patterns on the man´s shoulders and neck, and he would have loved to bend forward and kiss each one of them...touch the knubs of the vertebrae with his lips, right down to the shadows above the waistband of Winchester´s jeans ...instead, he rubbed his hands once more, and laid them on the doctor´s neck for a few seconds, before going on with his massaging moves. Sam concentrated on the strands of muscle, the knots, the bones he could feel under the smooth, surprisingly soft skin, rubbing and pulling and pressing with his hands, groping carefully for the muscles around the vertebrae with his fingertips. At some point, he got the feeling Winchester had fallen asleep, but then got a deep, rumbling sigh from him when he finally managed to stroke a tight knot out of the muscles on the base of the man´s head. Sam smiled.

„Good?"

That sound again, and jeez, it went right through Sam´s hands, directly into his groin. Careful now...well, Sam´s cock didn´t want to be careful anymore, he´d been behaving for a long time given the kind of teasing he got, and Sam hastily shrinked back a little from that perfect back, that firm butt right in front of him, honestly not knowing how he should be able to go on and control himself much longer. And right then, Winchester´s body followed his, searching for the lost warmth, the contact, and the damned man just sticked his butt out and rubbed it over Sam´s cock once, twice, and Sam couldnt help the suppressed moan escaping his throat..and he stepped close again, this time really close, because he knew an invitation when he got one...and pressed the other man against the car, letting him feel his half hard cock through the fabric of their trousers, and while his hands were still working the man´s back and shoulders, he started to grind against his ass, slowly rubbing his cock against the cleft between the buttcheeks, and oh man, it was good, his fingers were tingling, and Sam finally bent forward and kissed the neck in front of him.

„Good?", he whispered again, and felt the shiver running through Winchester´s body.

The doctor murmured something, maybe „So good", maybe „dont stop", Sam wasn´t sure, but as he had started to move his ass in unison with Sam´s hips now, he didn´t fucking care. Finally, he allowed his hands to glide down the pale skin, all the time letting his lips wander over the neck, the shoulders, the hairline in front of him, and when the hands had reached the man´s waist, he slipped his fingers under the waistband at the belly, and pulled him closer, pressed against him, never stopping his rolling, grinding moves...he thought of Cas for a moment, and how they had moved like that just...a few hours ago...how different he´d felt, and yet similar...the deep moan coming from the doc – DEAN - brought him back, and he thought how unbelievably hot it was to work this gorgeous man against his beloved car, seeing his own reflection, a little distorted, in the shiny paintwork.

He let his hands just slip a little deeper down, caress the wiry hair, just teasing the base of Dean´s cock with his fingertips, feeling it harden immediately, and Jesus, the man started to shake badly, and pressed against Sam´s cock in return, making a strange whimpering sound that almost hurt listening to. Sam pulled out his hands and fumbled with Dean´s belt buckle, oh man, the thought of having the man´s bare ass pressing agaist him like that alone made him hard enough to-

„Wait-" Sam froze. „Wait", Winchester panted once more, and pushed himself up, hands gripping the rim of his car´s roof top. Sam didn´t understand, was something wrong, or did the doctor make a retreat? He couldn´t have misunderstood the signs, this was consensual, or holy crap, had he been too engrossed in his own lust to-

Then Winchester turned around, and grabbed Sam, and slammed him against the car rather brutally, and Sam was so surprised he didn´t react at all. The next moment, the doctor had opened Sam´s belt and trousers, jerking them down unceremoniously, and then his hands were on Sam´s cock, and if Sam had had any objections against the violent swap of their roles, he forgot about them immediately, because dammit, the doc was grinding from behind, almost thrusting, Sam could clearly feel the hard cock pull and push against the cleft, and the surgeon´s skilled hands were doing things to his cock that made his mind blind out alltogether, and all he could muster were moans of pleasure he hadn´t known he was able to produce. It took him a while therefore to notice that Winchester was talking, or panting, into his ear, his voice was barely more than a rough, ragged whisper.."..tell me..you..want it...that way...tell..me...I know...you like...it..tell ...me..." and „..yes, yes, I like it, I want it..", Sam whimpered, but he wasn´t sure the doctor had heard what he said, he kept panting words, his voice sounded strange, „want..it..then...beg...for it...you ...hear me...beg...for..." and Sam couldnt stop himself, he begged „..please, yes, go on, I want it, please..." and jerked when he suddenly felt a hand on his ass, while the other one still stroked, and caressed, and sweetly tortured his hard cock, he heard a sucking sound, and then a wet finger entered his hole, and Sam jerked, but the finger went deeper, and yes it burned, but oh dear now the finger moved, circled, and pushed just a little more, and Sam shivered and jerked and moaned loudly, „..you..like that...right...tell me..you want ..another..." „yes, yes, I want more, please, another..." and right then one more finger stretched his hole, and it hurt, but jeez he wouldn´t want to miss that pain, and before he´d even adjusted to it, a third finger worked its way into him, and they stretched and wriggled and pushed, pushed, together with Winchester´s hips and groin, and found the spot they´d been looking for, and Sam gripped the roof as good as he could, moaning, pushing back, and then suddenly the fingers were gone...he heard the doctor spit in his hand, dammit, without real lube, it would gonna hurt, and JEEZ YES it hurt when the head of Dean´s cock pushed in, farther, deeper, Sam winced, and writhed, but Dean didn´t stop, he pushed, worked himself into Sam until he hit the point, and Sam forgot about the burning pain and just jerked against him, trying to get more...Dean started to thrust then, without warning, rather violently, not fast yet, but deep, and hard, and Sam was taken by surprise again, not stabilizing himself enough against the car, and was slammed into it painfully. „Hey- stop-not-so-Dean-what-be care-ful-" , but Dean didnt seem to hear, or want to, he just kept thrusting hard, faster now, and he was still panting words, „..you...take...the pain..can ...you take it...boy...I know...you...like it...tell me...the pain´s...good..." and Sam didnt know what to make of it, but oh, he began to adjust to the rhythm now, and gripped the car tight, pushed back against the man behind him, and it was good, „yes-I-like-it-like-the pain-go –on-", he didn´t even know why he answered, it was like a spell, and holy crap YES he liked it, wouldn´t have missed it, he could feel he was near now, and there was still the blissful hand on his cock, his hard, huge cock that sprang against his stomach already, almost there, almost, just a little more of this torture, YES, and then Sam screamed when the hand suddenly squeezed hard, fucking painfully hard, and the thrusting stopped, and he tried to look back at the doc, „Dean, what – the-fuck", he could barely speak, the hand gripped his cock so tight, and now he felt Dean´s thumb on the tip of the head, right over the slit, and he pressed down, pulling the head back, while the fingers were still squeezing, and Sam ´s vision whitened out for a moment it hurt so much..."tell..me..you..can ..take..the ..pain..boy...beg...for...it..." that creepy voice in Sam´s ear, and he whimpered, trying to escape the hand, but couldn´t, and he begged. „Please-yes- I –can take –it-please-I can...", he felt tears on his cheeks, and suddenly, the grip loosened, and Dean started to thrust again, taking up the rhythm like nothing had happened, and his fingers were gentle and soothing and Sam felt like he´d loose his mind any moment, because he´d never felt that kind of pleasure, it had been mind blowing with Cas, but in a different way, this was raw and brutal and he loved it, and was embarrassed by it, and still knew he would have it exactly that way any other time...jeez..yes...now he was...yes..."YES-GO-ON-YES-„ and he came in Dean´s hand, shooting come against the shiny surface of the car, and not caring, he felt Dean twitch and jerk inside him and knew he was getting there, too, and then he felt it, and pushed against him, pressed against the shivering body behind him, and for a few seconds Sam couldn´t hear, or see, or smell, just FEEL. Feel himself and the man inside him.

_Time was of the essence, and yet sometimes he couldn´t get out, had to stall, and be patient. He would have to make up for the delay, maybe step down from his perfect preparation routine, but it didn´t matter anymore now, he would reach the finishing line, could already see it. It was important that he not lose his head now though, bursting out and ruining the final steps, would be a pity...it was hard sometimes, staying put in disguise, waiting, waiting...while the hours ticked away, precious time, more precious as it was restricted with every day that passed._

_He´d get there. He was prepared, and he would pull this body through it no matter how difficult it might become. The Hunter was strong._

Sam sank against the car, was practically spread over it whith his upper body, panting and sweating and feeling Dean´s heartbeat against is back, a frantic, fast drum to their heavy breathing. Dean lay on top of him, Sam felt his short hair tickle him at the neck, and he still had his hands around Sam´s waist, they were shivering slightly, maybe from the exhaustion...Then Dean pushed himself away with a grunt, and pulled out, and Sam almost wanted to stop him...it felt so good having him so close, wrapped around him, he felt safe, and cared for, despite the weird thing that had just happened. Sam didn´t want to think about it right now, how he had been scared and pleased at the same time, and how it had felt like a stranger was standing there behind him, that he´d trusted someone he knew nothing about really, only official reports...then the warm body was back, just leaning there against him, and he closed his eyes and enjoyed the feeling of their heated skin touching...he heard a noise he couldn´t quite place, until he realized it was strangled, breathless sobs coming from Dean, and his first thought was jeez, is he an after-sex-cryer, and was ashamed the moment he thought it, because this wasn´t that kind of crying, it was pure desperation, a hopeless, resigned sound.

Sam didn´t know what to do, he couldn´t move without pushing Dean away...

„Dean?"

The sobs stopped, only some wet, gurgling panting, then he seemed to have calmed down. Sam turned his head just a little.

„Dean! Are you OK?"

There was no response, and Sam couldn´t do anything but wait, seconds passed, minutes, then finally he heard Dean speak again.

„I´m sorry...", only a whisper, barely audible. „I´m so sorry..."

Sam frowned. Sure, the whole being banged against the car- thing had come as a surprise, and he had hit the frame a few times pretty hard, but on the other hand, he´d enjoyed it more than he would have expected, or admitted to, and hey, he was 6 feet five and in good shape, and would have been able to stop it had he really wanted to.

„Hey, it´s Ok", he murmured. „I, er...I liked it, actually..."

He felt Dean shiver, but he didn´t say anything.

„Ahem...can I turn around? I think we should get our clothes back on, it´s not that warm and..." Then Dean´s warmth was gone, there was a thud and a clattering sound, and when Sam spun around, Dean was lying on the floor, jerking like mad, eyes wide, and Sam stumbled over his pushed down trousers and fell on his knees right at Dean´s side...his mind spun in panic, oh my God he´s an epileptic, what do I do, what did they tell us, and he remembered he should put something into Dean´s mouth to keep him from biting or swallowing his own tongue, but Dean´s jaw was so clenched he couldn´t open it, and his eyes were... Jesus, his eyes. The pupils were totally blown, all the green of the irises had vanished, the eyes looked black, and eerie, and just when Sam felt he would panic for real, the attack stopped.

„Dean! Dean, can you hear me?"

There it was again – that lost gaze, forlorn. Then fear was creeping into the eyes that had their usual color back now, although the pupils were still too wide...Sam stared into the scared child´s face again, and it creeped him out in a way he couldn´t quite explain. Dean lay there, he didn´t move, but started to shiver again, and Sam realized the floor was freaking cold. He grabbed the t-shirt and sweater that had fallen down, and tried to get Dean into it, but it was impossible, the other man was shaking so badly now it was hardly possible to hold his arms still. Sam didn´t see a blanket, even when he got up and looked into the Impala, and he did the only other thing he could think of besides calling an ambulance, which he was reluctant to do...for reasons he didn´t want to look at too closely. He could always do that, right? He pulled up his trousers, grabbed Dean´s limp body under the shoulders and legs, and heaved him up with a grunt. Once lifted, the man was unexpectedly light to carry, and Sam lost no time and shuffled over the yard and up the steps to the back door. Kitchen...hall.. there was the small bedroom. He placed the doctor on the bed, glad it wasn´t made, and pulled the trousers that were still wrapped around his ankles off his feet, together with the boots. Dean wasn´t assisting in any way, just staring at him with those huge confused eyes, and let everything happen without a sound. Sam pulled the sheets over him, the blanket, even the duvet, but Dean was still trembling, and his face looked so pale and cold, the lips bluish...and then Sam just climbed under the blankets and wrapped himself around the man, covering as much skin as he could, and he was surprised when Dean finally reacted and snuggled against him, burying his face at Sam´s chest. After a few minutes, Sam heard his breathing deepen and slow down, and then his shoulders relaxed, and he was asleep.

Sam lay there, holding a man in his arms he barely knew, and asked himself what the hell he had gotten himself into.

Dean woke up to someone´s snoring.

For a moment he thought Jo was back and had spent the night, but the sounds weren´t hers, she did snore from time to time, but it sounded more like a soft chrrrrrrr-rrrrrr. This was a deep rumbling sound only a huge chest could produce, and Dean kept his eyes closed for a while, searching his memory for anything that might give him a clue as to who was in his bed with him. He felt a warm body pressed against his back, the tickling of someones breath in his neck, and an arm and a leg spread across his side, entangled with his own limbs. It felt good. Safe. The leg was a little heavy, though, and in Dean´s left hip a dull pounding pain fought against the additional pressure. His head hurt, too, but not the way he´d gotten used to, sharp, white stabs and an ever growing pressure, but a steady throbbing behind his ear...more like a normal headache after you´ve hit your head. Then he realized he was stark naked. The leg on his hip was not, nor was the arm. He squinted down at the arm, and thought he might know that shirt... the slender, long fingers. He´d seen those hands dance over the keyboard of a laptop...Agent Campbell.

With the name, events of the morning came back to the surface, the agent standing in front of the house with his box, the files spilled on the kitchen floor. The garage...he´d shown him the Impala. He knew the man for...a day, approximately, and yet he was one of two persons who had ever seen Dean´s car. The other one was Jo.

He remembered the pain, and...oh jeez. Campbell had offered to give him a massage, and they had...oh man. He wasn´t entitely sure, things were pretty blurred in his memory, but he was quite sure they´d had sex against the Impala, which was...anyway. He remembered the agent standing behind him, and he´d taken his shirt off, and then...it blackened out. Did he – did he have another fit? It was the only explanation making any sense...so obviously, Campbell had taken him here and...felt tired and...did not call an ambulance, which was weird, although Dean was glad about it. He could do without the turmoil.

Not that it would save him from informing the hospital now. He´d hoped for a few more months...but the day had come, as Dr. Mills had predicted, so he would take the required measurements. The hospital...crap. Dean´s wristwatch showed 7.55...dammit. His shift started at eight...if there was still a shift for him.

„I can keep the lid on it, Dean, but you have to promise you´ll be honest to yourself and take the consequences when the time comes. Any fits, epileptic attacks, loss of one of your senses – and you´re done working. And driving, come to think of it. You can´t sit on that muscle bike of yours and have a fit or loose sight...and I don´t say it will happen, but it can. So – are we clear there? You´ll quit at the first sign?"

He´d promised her, and had already stretched it a little, because it was months now that his taste sense had practically gone, and sometimes his field of vision seemed to narrow down to a small dark tunnel. But now, it was different. Worse.

He lay there for some more precious minutes, taking in the scent, the feeling of someone against his skin. The breathing. Then he wriggled himself out of agent Campbell´s sleepy hug, trying not to wake him, and climbed out of the bed, feeling sore practically everywhere, but still better than on many of the last days. He found his phone in his leather jacket in the kitchen. He fetched his old bathrobe from the bathroom and shuffled to the living room. Dammit. He´d never build that rack for his vinyl discs now, and the frame for the best covers he´d looked for so long on garage sells and flea markets. But then, he wouldn´t need them any more after all, right?

Sitting down on the arm rest of his old leather couch, he dialed the number of the hospital.

Sam heard a quiet voice talk somewhere, one he didn´t recognize at once in his twilight state, but identified it after a few minutes as Dean Winchester´s. The moment he did, all sleep was gone of his brain and body. Dean. Holy crap.

He entangled his limbs from the sheets, and jumped out of bed, following the voice to a rather spacy living room. Well, maybe not that spacy at all, but as there wasn´t much furniture in it, it looked large. Dean had his back to the door, sitting on an old battered sofa, in a bathrobe that seemed to be a relic from the 1940s. As Sam was barefoot, Dean hadn´t heard him coming, and he just stood at the entrance for a few minutes, taking in the room, the voice, the scent, without really listening to the conversation. Which was pretty one-sided anyway, as Dean only said a few sentences or numbers now and then.

The doctor either had a faible for old furniture from the 60s or preferred a cheap secon-hand life style; and showed a rather interesting taste in pictures. One wall was entirely covered by a huge picture in beautiful blue and grey colors; it was kind of abstract, but Sam could see a landscape hidden in it, flat fields and a sky covered in layers and layers of clouds in all shades of grey and blue. You could tell heavy rain was falling, although Sam wouldn´t have been able to explain why. It was breathtaking. And melancholic. Made you smell the scent of raindrops on a dusty summer road, and it felt like long weeks of summer vacation, and chirping crickets in the meadows, and cinnamon rolls. And loneliness.

„Yes...I´ll be there at 11. Yes. ... Ok. Thank you, Richard."

Sam hadn´t noticed the voice had stopped, he was lost in memories of long gone summer holidays, still staring at the huge painting.

„You like it?"

He started, and felt awkward at having seemingly eavesdropped on the doctor.

„Sorry, I – I heard you in here and just wanted to see if you were alright...I ...and yes, I like it very much."

Dean looked at him with this unreadable face again, and Sam was relieved because it probably meant he was back to normal, at least in comparison to today´s early morning hour, where everything had gone crazy.

Then Dean turned and stared at the painting for a long time, while Sam walked closer to the wall to see the texture of the picture´s surface. From close up, it was a confusing mess of colors and brush strokes, and Sam wondered how an artist could make this chaos look like an actual recognizable scenery.

„A friend painted it", he heard Dean´s rough voice in his back. He looked over his shoulder, and saw exactly the melancholy in the other man´s face he too had felt looking at the rainy landscape.

„It´s beautiful...", Sam sad.

Dean nodded, a little tiredly.

„I just quit my job", he said.

„What?"

He shrugged, looking at his hands. „It was time", he murmured, more to himself.

Sam hesitated. Then he thought, what the hell, I saw what happened, I carried this man into his bedroom, stark naked, what are you afraid of? But he knew he just feared the answer to his yet unasked question might be one he didn´t want to hear.

„Dean...", he started. The doctor looked up, resignation in his eyes.

„What´s going on... with you?"

Dean looked at his hands again, then at the painting, the room. It was as if he tried to find reassurance or strength in the things that had surrounded him for years.

„A brain tumor. Inoperable. They said 6 to 8 months, but..." His voice faded away.

Sam stood there, frozen. He had been right to fear the answer.

„I´m sorry", he tried to say, but it came out as a hoarse whisper only.

„Yeah..."

Sam watched the other man shrug, and he had the impression Dean was retreating into his shell again. No. He didn´t want to lose ...whatever it was they had shared this morning. Maybe it was the fear of losing something he had just found that made him go on.

„Are you scared?"

Dean looked up at that, and Sam´s heart tightened painfully, because he was so incredibly beautiful, and the question had caught him off guard, his face unmasked...and it was so vulnerable...Sam´s first impulse was to stride over and hug him, take him in his arms, like a parent would a scared child, because those eyes were the ones he´d seen twice already, the frightened eyes of a lost child. But then Dean´s mask fell in place again, hiding fear and loneliness, and Sam remembered how the doctor had flinched when other people had touched him...maybe he didn´t like being hugged, and Sam really didn´t want to cause him further distress.

„Yes", finally came the answer, a low rasp, and Sam could tell it cost Dean some will power to admit to it.

„I´d be, too", Sam whispered. „Hell, I...it´d scare the shit out of me."

Dean huffed mirthlessly, picking at some threadbare patch of his bathrobe. He got up, and shoved his phone into the bathrobe´s sagging pocket.

„Want the coffee now?", he asked, and Sam knew that for the moment the sharing and caring time was over.

When Cas entered his apartment, it was 5.35, and he considered using the time to go over the doctor´s observations and the files once more. But first, he took a shower, and put on some comfy clothes, and had the water boiling for his huge teapot. He took files, laptop, the pot, a mug and the huge sugar can over to the living room/bedroom, and sank into the old couch he´d fetched from the attic when he´d left the flat with all the stylish furniture and his ex-wife in it.

Sam had e-mailed him his summary of the doctor´s statement before they´d left to...have mind-blowing sex in his motel room. Cas read through the facts Dr. Winchester had given them, again surprised by how in such short time he had managed to give them not only the valid information they needed, but to present it methodically, understandable, and with no superfluous words. Cas assumed a few years in the military would make you become such a well organized person...although he knew enough living examples to contraddict that theory. Obviously, the doctor had had this part of his personality in him all his life, and maybe it had only been enhanced by the years he served his country so bravely in some godforsaken desert.

Bravery. It reminded him of Campbell´s joking accusation that he couldn´t take a little heroism. The agent had stumbled over something there unknowingly. Cas had practically grown up to his mother´s frustrated rants about his father, who „prefers playing hero or what comes next to it for a coward like him in God knows what country that was unfortunate enough to draw our leaders´ attention to it"...Cas´ father had been a pastor for ten years already, when he got „The Call", as he put it, and enlisted as permanent Heavenly Assistance in the army, following the troops around wherever the wind of war blew them. Cas had been only four then, and from then on saw his father only on the very rare occasions when he visited (and definitely NOT at Christmas or Thanksgiving, as he obviously was more needed by his brave soldiers then). After three or four years, the visits stopped alltogether, as he went missing „in action" (what, giving a sermon? Organizing a prayer?) To be honest, Cas didn´t even mind; he had missed his Dad in the beginning, but he turned into such a weird, driven person after „The Call" he then was a little afraid of him. And then his mother always was on the edge the few days he visited, he could hear them shout at each other in the living room, even when he pressed the pillow over his head, that he felt relieved each time his father left again. So, „hero" for Cas had taken on a somehow bad taste (he could practically hear his mother spit the word out in disgust), and he´d learned to face the hero topic the way he did everything that deep down bothered him more than he would ever admit: with irony.

Which, he thought, amused by his own wayward mind, brought him back to Agent Campbell, his sense of irony that matched his own (and Cas was well aware the odds of finding such a person were 1:1.000.000), who additionally was the smartest FBI guy who wasn´t a dick he´d met so far, and, well, the best friggin´ fuck he´d had since – well, so far, too.

Cas leant back into the worn down fabric of the couch. Eyes closed, he enjoyed a little virtual dessert, remembering how it had felt to have the huge agent inside him, have that cock of all cocks push, shove, thrust and shag into his asshole, fuck them both almost into oblivion. Jeez, he became hard only thinking about it. And there was still the untouched Dr. Beautiful, such a tease, God he´d love to spend some quality time with that man, he was...Dr. Sexy. Yes. Appropriate name...Dr. Mysterious Sexy MD.

Cas gave up the idea of working, set the files aside, made himself comfortable on his sofa, and spent an eventful hour role playing with Agent Sam Campbell and Dr. Dean Winchester...and most of the roles didn´t include clothes other than his iconic coat and his favorite blue tie.

Dean fumbled with the coffee beans, put water in the machine´s tank, and took two mugs off the board with his Famous Roadhouse Mugs collection. He heard Sam in the bathroom, shaving, showering, probably combing his tangled hair (although, he´d have a hard time doing so with Dean´s perfunctory comb). The coffee machine started to grind and steam and make all kinds of noises, and he could smell the freshly smashed beans´ scent...and yes, somehow he managed to be thankful for that. What would a world without scents be like...especially coffee. Dean had always loved the stuff, had drunk way too much of it, if his colleagues´ professional opinion was anything to go with („I wonder you still have any stomach left, Dean") – and well, now it turned out he didn´t have to worry about ruining his health by copious amounts of strong black coffee at all. There were upsides to everything, right?

He opened the refrigerator, looking for something breakfast-y in there. He had eggs. Ah, and the piece of water melon he´d bought at Rashid´s the other day...he wasn´t sure why, but Sam seemed like the kind of person who ate healthy. A life style Dean had always attempted to take on, and somehow never managed for longer than – well, one or two days. Even Jo, stubborn as she might be, hadn´t prevailed in turning him into someone embracing salad or fruit or wholewheat bread in his life. He loved burgers, and spicy curries, and ham, and pie. He´d even found the pre-cooked ready meals during the war not too bad...he´d eaten worse in his life, much worse, or nothing at all for days, and one learned to appreciate food if he had had to live with a hungry stomach.

He started to open and throw the eggs in a bowl when he heard Sam enter the kitchen.

He looked back over his shoulder.

„Hey."

Sam smiled. „Breakfast too? Full service, huh."

Dean turned back to the counter, smiling too. „What can I say...you´ve chosen the all inclusive package." And wondered why he was chatting with this man he hardly knew, why words seemed to come more easily when he was with him. Why he felt like he wanted to make the minutes...hours...he had with him count.

Well, it was probably all due to a change in perspective. Seeing your life time run through the sand clock...

„I hope you like eggs and water melon as there´s nothing else...aside from two days old leftover curry."

Sam came over, leaning against the counter.

„Eggs are just fine." He watched Dean batter the eggs, take out a small pan, and – „Dammit, I don´t think there´s any butter", Dean murmured. „You OK with oil instead?"

Sam pushed himself off the counter, reaching for the oil bottle at the stove´s side.

„It´s fine", Sam repeated. „You don´t have to do this", he added. „I can stop somewhere on the way to ...to the task force headquarter."

Dean poured the eggs into the oiled pan, whirling them around once.

„Maybe I want to", he said, a little defiantly. He hadn´t used his kitchen in weeks, hadn´t had someone in here in ...since Jo. And even then, it was mostly Jo. Whenever he met people, it was in a pub or at Jos´ (on the few occasions she practically forced him to come).

When the eggs were ready, he took the pan off the stove.

And then he stood there, the pan in hand, at a loss what he was going to do with it. He´d made eggs. For breakfast. And now...he knew he was supposed to do something...

Someone put a plate on the counter, and yes, now he remembered. He looked up, but it was hard to see Sam´s carefully guarded face, so he just shrugged and scratched the eggs onto the plate. He had been lucky until now...seemed he had run out of luck now.

Once the shit found you, it came in shitloads...he should have expected as much, right? If his life so far was any indication for the way fate liked to play the game ...

He pressed the plate into Sam´s hand, had the machine fill two mugs with coffee, and took them to the small table.

„Milk? Sugar?"

„Yes, please..." Dean reached the sugar bowl over, and put the milk box on the table.

Then he sat down, his mug in hands, staring at the scratched wooden surface, trying to remember where that one deep indentation came from. He didn´t look up when Sam pulled out a chair, and sat down too, and got up again to get a fork from the tin mug where Dean put his cutlery to dry. The agent reached for the salt and pepper on the table (vintage, Hard Rock Cafe...a gift from Bennie...long time ago).

Dean rubbed his eyes. The pressure started to build again. Well, he´d had a good half hour, hadn´t he.

Somehow, it was easier to keep things like he was used to. Distanced, and safely shut into his shell.

Sam shoved the eggs into his mouth, watching the doctor furtively. Not that he would have noticed if Sam had stared right at him. Dean studied the table as if some secret message was to find on it. Sam could tell he was building up his armor again, the whole posture suggested it, the set of his shoulders, and the face had adopted that immobile mask again that seemed to be Dean´s way to handle the necessary contact with the world around him...like the helmet of an astronaut in space, or those glass bowls aliens wore in old science fiction movies. A means to survive in unfriendly surroundings.

But Sam had a certain stubborness in him, too (what his Mom referred to as „his bull dog attitude"), and he didn´t mean to let Dean slip away right now.

He put down the fork – the eggs combined with water melon had actually been good, or he had just been hungry enough -, and looked at the bowed head in front of him.

„So...what are you gonna do now?"

Dean raised his head slowly. „Do?"

„You quit your job. And you´re still walking and talking...so...vacation on sandy beaches? Travel the world? See the Mona Lisa? Kiss a super model? Find Bigfoot?"

Dean stared at him and looked annoyed, but Sam just went on. Even an angry reaction would be good...better than the mask.

„Come on...you must have a list...you know, 10 things I want to do before I die? Well, in your case, you should probably hurry. Or think about re-evaluating and prioritizing..."

Sam was well aware he was crossing the line here. Being ironic was funny and all, but they talked about death here. He realized it was the first time he´d even allowed himself to think the word. Death. The man in front of him was dying, probably slowly and painfully, and he made weak, if not cruel, jokes. Great social skills, Sam...but then...what the hell.

If it got Dean out of his bunker...

Actually, the man knew how to surprise him. Because he kept staring at Sam, and for a moment there was definitely a murderous spark in the green eyes. Then he chuckled. Which turned into a bellowing, rough laugh for a few seconds. It sounded as if the doc hadn´t laughed in a long time.

Dean shook his head, and winced, but kept grinning. „You are sure worth knowing, Sam Campbell", he said. „I´m glad we met before...as long as it was still possible."

He rubbed his eyes again.

„And you know...about that list...I think I ticked two things off today..."

Sam smiled. „Did you..."

„Yeah...I´m not entirely sure, but I think I had good sex one last time. And I found Bigfoot."

Sam laughed, happy to see a glimpse of the funny, quick-witted Dean Winchester who was buried somewhere under all the layers of crap life had sent his way. He stopped abruptly though when the doctor pressed the heals of his hands against his eyes and front, fingers digging into his sculp, and groaned.

„Dean- " jeez, what did you say, or do in such a situation? „Dean, can I - can I bring you anything? Some meds or - "

Dean´s whole body seemed to draw itself together until his hands touched the table, still grabbing his head, and Sam heard the fast, ragged breathing, and felt incredibly helpless in front of that pain. For two agonizingly long minutes, he watched and listened and didn´t even dare touch the man. Then the panting eased, finally...and Dean just crouched there, his front on the table, hands fallen off his head. Sam hesitantly reached over the table with his long arms, and covered Dean´s hands with his own, took them gently, and held them, warmed them, kept them steady. He studied the way Dean´s hair stood up at the crown, the short cropped neck he longed to touch, to stroke...

Dean´s words echoed in his mind, „one last time", they were caught in a loop, onelasttimeonelasttimeonelasttime...and it was maybe only then that he realized what dying slowly actually meant. A list of things you did one last time.

His phone rang.

Cas busied himself with the files, spreading them out on the desks, and writing the key words of the doc´s comments on green post-it stickers, adding them to the huge board they´d filled so far with victims, crime scenes, medical reports, and not much more, as there had been nothing. They didn´t have anything on the killer so far, and the knowledge they´d gained through Dr. Winchester´s assistance last night filled Cas with professional euphoria.

At 9.10, he started to wonder if Sam had overslept. He couldn´t help grinning...well, it would be very understandable - after the exhausting activities they shared.

At 9.15, he called his cellphone number.

It rang five times, then went to voice mail. Cas left a message.

He thought about calling the motel to wake the agent from his blissful slumber, when Steven Tyler bleared out of his phone, calling for „Ba-a-aby you´re my angel, come and save me tonight...".

Sam´s number appeared on the display.

„I hope I didn´t wake you, wonderboy", Cas purred into the phone, and couldn´t stop himself from grinning.

„Cas..."

There was something in the agent´s voice that wiped the grin off Cas´ face.

„What´s wrong?" From pleasant morning chatter with your last night´s lover to professional clipped tones in one second.

„We have a problem", Sam said, and Cas could hear the tension in his voice.

„It´s Dean – Dr. Winchester. I´ ll be driving us to the hospital soon...can we meet there? Or would you prefer headquarters...but I´ll be a while..."

„I´m on my way", Cas said, wondering about his own easy decision. „I´ll meet you – where are you headed?"

„Wait a min..." Cas heard Sam talk to someone in the background, a murmured answer.

„Dr. Mills, at Neurochirurgy. 4th floor, violet wing."

„OK...I´lll catch up with you there. See you...you sure you´re OK?"

„ I´m fine, Cas. See you...Bye."

„Detective Novak?"

„Yes..."

Dean stood in the kitchen entrance, rubbing his wet hair with a towel. He had another towel slung around his hips, and Sam was too distracted by his own worried thoughts to be polite, and just stared blankely. Dean´s usually pale skin was a little flushed from the hot water, the scars a bright red and dirty white criss cross against the otherwise smooth and soft looking shoulder and side. Sam´s hands itched to touch, explore, read this body again...feel those perky nipples between his fingertips...wander the hills and dales down his ribs, to the flat, almost caved-in belly, grab those sharp hipbones to pull Dean nearer, pull the body closer that failed this man so badly. Feel the perfect curve of his firm ass under the cloth.

But he´d listened to Dean´s retching noises in the bathroom for more than ten minutes, after the doctor had suddenly shoved back his chair with a screech and staggered out of the kitchen. Had found him sitting on the floor besides the toilet, sweating and shivering, and too exhausted to even open his eyes. Had helped him get up and into the shower, more bothered by the other man´s resigned acceptance of his help than he would have been by a downright refusal.

Now, the surgeon looked pale, but relatively Ok. Pretty normal, to be true. Still, Sam didn´t think he was fit enough for making out, or having sex (onelasttimeonelasttimaonelasttime...) or any other activity demanding physical strength. So he reined himself in, and let his eyes and mind do what his hands and lips and tongue longed for...not even noticing the way the doctor´s face was open and easy to read for once, showing need and want and hesitation and resignation all at the same time...so it came as a surprise to Sam when Dean suddenly walked close, until he stood directly in front of Sam´s chair, and tugged at one of Sam´s strands, a little hesitantly...when he stroked Sam´s brow with his thumb, ever so lightly, Sam couldn´t restrain himself any more, he just leant his front against that smooth, almost too flat belly with a sigh, wrapped his arms loosely around the other man´s waist...and they just stood and sat there like that, Dean´s hands cupped the back of Sam´s head, buried in his hair, and Sam took in the scent of Dean´s skin, its softness, felt the pulse of blood in his veins, his heartbeat. And Sam understood with a pang that this was what he´d maybe longed for even more than sex...giving this man comfort, holding him, letting him feel that he was not alone... And despite the fact that he was holding one of the sexiest men he´d ever met, almost naked, right in his arms, touching his skin with his lips, for God´s sake, his cock didn´t call for more after the first twitches, and neither did Dean´s.

They just remained there, breathing, feeling each other´s presence, and knowing, enjoying, they were alive.

Dean listened to agent Campbell´s calm breathing, the sound paralleled by the puffs of warm air he felt against his skin where Sam´s lips touched him. He wondered how he could feel so satisfied just standing there and having another human being close to him, when he´d expected they´d probably be in each other´s pants within seconds, given how hot the young agent was, and how passionate they´d been only hours ago...as far as he could remember, that was. He couldn´t deny that was what had crossed his mind when he stepped close to the man (onelasttimeonelasttime...). And now, it was totally enough to just stand there and hold, touch, take in...

And Dean realized he felt at peace. Strangely enough, after the fierce attack the thing inside his head had run against his body, the pain had now retreated to a bearable throbbing pressure, on a level he had gotten used to over the months. Although he hadn´t fought against the illness from the start, had blatantly refused to get treatment other than pain killers (and much use they´d been lately), as it was clear from the beginning that healing, or even getting better, would never be an option, only the prolongation of a life that would then have been dominated by the side effects of the treatment...and he´d chosen the other way, to be able to use as much of the time he´d left to live his life as he was used to...working, repairing...there were so many things still to repair, to make up for...only it hadn´t been quite the same, and much more exhausting than he´d have expected, and time had been so much more restricted...although he had made a deliberate choice, he realized that only now had he accepted what was happening.

That the last months had been a grace allowed him, not a bonus he´d earned.

That the postponement was over.

That he was dying.

And yet, he felt at peace.

Finally, Dean stepped back a little, and Sam looked up into the pale face, astonished to find it so calm...peaceful. Not immobile and unreadable like the mask...just what Sam would think of as „at peace with the world", although he´d never understood what that would looke like until now. Now, he did.

Dean´s hand was still on his head, and he tugged-stroked a strand of Sam´s tangled hair, kind of absent-mindedly, and Sam reached up and caught his hand, just holding it for a moment, while his other hand still lay on the soft curve of Dean´s back. They looked at each other, and it was...weird, because Sam had the feeling he´d known this man all his life, known him like you know a brother, and it was crazy, as he´d never seen him before...yesterday. Yesterday, for Christ´s sake.

And now...onelasttimeonelasttimeonelasttime, the wheel was spinning in his mind.

Cas was about to leave when he got a phone call from one of the crime scene men, and then another from a team member, and then a very unpleasant one from his superior asking for results goddammit and couldn´t they catch this nutcase, the commissioner was already red in the face only hearing someone say balls and it was a shame what with this new wonderboy theyd gotten from the FBI and „Dammit, Novak, get that mojo everyone says you´ve got going or you´re back to your nice dusty archive job!"

After that, Cas felt like he could need a little take-a-breath time, and went to have a tea at the shop across the street to calm down, and think. He was much nearer to the hospital anyway, so he´d probably arrive there not much later than Sam and the doctor with the crazy pre-Christmas traffic that was already blocking the streets.

His team member had informed him about the research results concerning the people in those „special units" Winchester had talked about (he was surprised they´d gotten any information at all, but then having the Commissioner and the FBI on board probably helped)...and if the doctor´s supposition was right (and Cas was convinced of it) and their killer was actually the same man who´d offed Major Walker back there in Afghanistan, they could narrow down their search to about 80, 100 people, if they included everyone from the actual soldiers to medical staff, operators and the freaking cleaning woman; and to only 30 – 35 persons if they concentrated on those who actually would be able to use those special „skills" on somebody, and pull a months-long secret operation like the murdering of 14 people without leaving a trace. 20 more if you included the medical staff again...and many of them had combat training and experience, like Winchester for example, so they probably shouldn´t rule them out. So, 50 to 55 people to scan, frisk, put under a damn x-ray machine.

Which was, in comparison to the approximately 2 million possibilities they´d started with, a real improvement.

He was still sipping his tea, when another call came in (as it was a discreet classic ring tone, it would be work-related). His superior-superior. Great. Another one to wash his hair.

„Novak".

After listening to the Deputy Chief for three minutes, he just growled, „I see."

„Sorry, Novak, I know you´ve put good work into this."

„Thank you, Sir."

„The new task force will arrive Saturday morning...I expect you to present them all the material as far as they haven´t already got it. Full cooperation, Novak. I don´t want any complaints about childish territorial fights or cold-shouldering out of revenge. It´s about the case, Novak."

„I understand, Sir."

He stared at his phone for a few seconds, then put it on the table. Well, honestly, he should have seen that coming.

Maybe he had been too distracted by a long haired long limbed long...everything...FBI agent.

While Dean put on some clothes, and started rummaging in one of his drawers for documents he wanted to take with, Sam cleaned the dishes, wiped the table, and then wandered across the yard to the garage, where the door was ajar and the lights were still burning. The heater had gladly turned itself off or maybe broken down. Sam went to the huge metal sink at the far side of the garage, wettet a rag and searched the Impala´s side for signs of their earlier...activities. He wiped the patches of dried-in come off the door, and after a moment of consideration, looked for some polish to put on the paint. He was rubbing it onto the shiny surface when he heard someone step into the garage.

„There you are."

Sam straightened up and looked at Dean, who leant against the doorframe, looking casually elegant like a model in an artsy fashion ad. So beautiful.

What a waste, Sam thought, and felt bad for it the next second.

„Yeah, I...er...I was just cleaning up."

Dean looked at the spot Sam had cleaned.

„So, we did...we actually had sex?"

Sam looked at him, perplexed. „You seriously don´t remember?"

Dean rubbed his front.

„Not really...I know you...we started something here and...you were standing behind me, but...it´s blurred...guess I blacked out then. Next thing I remember is waking up in my bed...with you."

Sam leant back against the car. „Jesus..." . He picked at his shirt, feeling a little awkward.

„We ahem...we kind of reversed roles and you...it was pretty er...intense."

Dean looked up at that. „Intense? You mean...jeez, I didn´t hurt you or - "

„No, no, just – no, it was, honestly, it was ...I´d never...God, I loved it."

Dean looked horrified. „I did hurt you. Oh my God, this can´t – I – dammit, Sam, I´m - I´m sorry." He had wrapped his arms around his waist, eyes pressed shut, and looked like he was going to vomit again. Sam pushed himself from the car, strode over to Dean, and grabbed his shoulders.

„Dean." When the other man didn´t react, he shook him slightly. „Dean!"

He opened his eyes then. „You didn´t do anything I didn´ t want, Dean. Don´t – don´t apologize for – you know I could have stopped you if something wasn´ t OK with me. Right?"

He nodded tiredly. „I didn´t expect it to be like that...", he murmured. „I mean...you see your patients, you read about it, you know what´s in there for you...but then..suddenly you don´t know who you are anymore. It´s losing control over...everything. And you can do...nothing."

„I know", Sam said.

Dean looked up at him, a little sceptically. „Do you..."

Sam shrugged. „I know it´s not the same, but...my Granddad. He had Alzheimers´ Desease...it was...like watching him fade away..inside, while his body still ..hung around. And it wasn´t just...losing him, it was – there was this mean, and angry, person all of a sudden, and I – he scared me. For a while. Then it...there was just nothing left."

He felt Dean´s eyes on him, a pensieve expression in them, and looked away.

„You were close..."

„Yes." Sam shrugged again. „He spent a lot of time with me...showed me stuff, like birds, and plants, and how to build a perfect paper plane. And he read stories to me...like the old sagas, King Arthur and stuff...he always said they were important, because we all had

parts of them in us...they represented our virtues and vices. Not that I really understood what he meant back then, but – well, now I do."

Dean huffed . „The leader against his will...the passionate lover...the fierce fighter...the one who´s looking for answers he doesn´t even know the questions to, but with stubborness and perseverance...the loyal companion...the traitor. We have it all in us, yeah."

Sam watched him, surprised.

„You read the Knights of the Round Table stories?"

Dean shrugged. „Yeah..used to read them as a child. There wasn´t much choice in books at – where I lived. The Bible, some girly stuff, and King Arthur. I dont even know how the book got there...maybe a donation they couldn´t reject."

„You seem to know them pretty well."

„Yeah...let´s say I sometimes had much time at my hands, and reading would have been the only thing allowed to ...pass it. I was smart enough to put the King Arthur stories into a Bible cover after the third time, so..."

Sam smiled „Detention?"

„Kind of..." Sam noticed Dean did not join his smile.

He hesitated. „That was...at the orphanage, right? It was a church institution?"

Dean´s head jerked up, and his face got guarded again within an instant. He looked at Sam for a few seconds before answering.

„I almost forgot you´re FBI."

Sam could hear the „my bad", although Dean didn´t say it aloud.

„Dean - "

„It´s OK. We should go to the hospital now."

He took Sam´s hands off his upper arms, stepped back, turned, and walked over to the house, not looking back. Sam stood there, arms dangling at his sides, and cursed inwardly. Damn idiot.

He threw the rag into the sink, angrily, turned off the light, and closed the garage´s sliding door with a pang. Damn fucking idiot.

Dean cursed himself inwardly. Idiot. He was such an idiot. He had let his guard down, believing it didn´t matter any more, and that facing death would make it worth trusting someone. He´d fooled himself. Of course. You opened a little gap, and they wriggled themselves in, took more and more room, and sniffed around, and pushed and pulled and freaking pitied and judged you and told you what you needed and felt, or should feel, and he was so damn tired of it.

He stomped back into the house, the peaceful feeling that had filled him earlier gone, he felt the anger come back to the surface. It hadn´t boiled up in a while, he´d probably been too tired most of the time, and then he´d seen to it nobody bothered or disturbed him once Jo was gone. People had learned to just let him be, they did if you just didn´t react to their well-meant approaches.

What was the point of opening up when everything it brought you in return was endless scrutiny until you felt like a rare beatle pinned to a piece of wood.

He shoved the documents he´d need to officially give in his notice into the old heavy leather briefcase with the nice engraved metal corners the last house owner had left in the garage. When he heard the screen door bang against the wall, and heavy footsteps striding through the kitchen, he took the briefcase and went to the living room door. Well, someone else was angry, too.

Dean watched Sam storm into the hall, and stop dead.

„So you just turn and run each time someone scrapes the surface?"

Jeez, the man was really pissed. Dean wasn´t exactly sure why. But now he was, too.

„So what if I do?"

„You can´t – you can´t just – it´s no use running from anyone who might know your past, it will always be there anyway!" Sam didn´t sound so much angry, but exasperated.

„Seems to me I can. And I only run from dicks who stick their nose where it doesn´t belong."

„What are you afraid of! That anyone could find out you stole a box of chocolate when you were what, 9? 10? Who cares! You were in foster care and had a difficult time and - "

Dean felt his hands turn cold. The anger flared up, white and icy, and he realized he´d missed it. It made him feel alive, pulsing through his veins like a drug.

„Shut UP!"

He gleared at the agent, whose mouth had closed allright. He seemed taken aback by Dean´s violent cry. Scared, even.

Dean felt a wave of words rising from somewhere within him, like bile, acid and foul, and he thought what the fuck, and let the dam break.

„You people with your apple pie lives always think you´re doing the right thing, the good deed, digging into other peoples´ lives, but know what? You´re just creepy bastards who get a hard-on when you read about the oh so poor orphans getting the shit beaten out of them by the ones supposed to care for them, or much worse, and then you´re easing your conscience by telling yourself the little criminals had it coming anyway, or that it was a tough but necessary school for succeeding in life or some fucking shit like that! And if that wasn´t enough, you want us to TALK about it all the time, to OPEN UP and remember and let it all out, all the gruesome details, right? Because it will help, right? I can tell you it only helps those cocksucking shrinks to jerk off, not their patients, and certainly not me!"

He felt like his head might explode any minute, it wasn´t a drum anymore giving the rhythm, it was the huge iron hammer of a sheet mill, thump-thump-thump-thump, merciless, but he could take it, _say it,_ he could, even if it whitened out his vision, he could, _can you take the pain, boy, _because the anger burned in his veins, _can you take it, _and he was alive alive alive –

„Dean - "

„ I SAID SHUT UP!"

Something was in his hand, something heavy, and he just threw it blindly against the voice with all the rage of The Anger.

The briefcase came out of nowhere, and it hit Sam directly in the face. He could feel his brow split, and there was a sickening sound in his nose, right before the pain shot up through his head, and then he felt the warm stream of blood dripping over his mouth, and chin, and into his left eye. The blow had slammed him against the wall, and he sank to the floor, blinded by the blood and the pain, but then his brain kicked in again; he stumbled to his feet again, and into the kitchen, grabbing for the towel at the sink, pressing it against his face. It would have been nice to sit down, and rest, and think things through, but Dean was in the hall, and he had to get there...

Dean stood at the door to the living room, gripping the doorframe with his left arm, the right one was wrapped around his body tightly, he was swaying, his chest heaving as if he couldn´t get enough oxygen into his lungs, a drowning man. Sam stepped closer, carefully, he wasn´t sure which Dean it was he would find, the tired dying doctor or the violent man he´d just seen, the pupils blown and black again, the horrific caricature of himself...Dean´s gaze was unfocused, but the eyes...they were green, and bright, and Sam strode forward, still pressing the cloth to his face, it was sticky and Sam hated the smell of the blood, but he had to grab Dean before he fell again like this morning –

And Dean´s hand released the doorframe, and he swayed and fell forward...

But Sam was there, and he caught him.

Together they staggered to the old leather sofa, and he let Dean slide down, had to take the cloth off his nose to be able to arrange his legs, his arms, the head, and realized he bled all over him doing so...Dean looked at him all the time, his eyes dazedly followed Sam´s every movement, but otherwise he was a piece of meat, not helping, not resisting.

Finally, Sam sank down to the floor in front of the couch, leaning his head back against Dean´s waist, and holding one of Dean´s hands with his free one, although he wasn´t even sure the doctor could feel it.

Cas...he needed Cas.

Cas marched up and down the pavement in front of the tea shop. He was so angry he knew it wouldn´t be wise to climb into the car before he had let off some steam. After five minutes, he felt at least calm enough to call Sam, but it went to voicemail again. Well, he could tell him the fabulous news at the hospital.

He shoved the phone back into his coat´s pocket and waited for the traffic to clear so he could cross the street. After a few minutes he gave up and walked to the next pedestrian crossing. He´d be a good policeman and use the designated zones. He could do that. What he obviously could not do was, according to his superiors, his job.

After more long and mood-ruining minutes, Cas approached his car on the department´s parking lot and fumbled for the keys, when his phone rang.

„Sam? Good you´re calling. I have to tell you – Sam? Sam! ... What ... where are – what?"

He listened to the agent´s shaky and muffled voice, already climbing into the car and turning the ignition.

„Sam, give me the number once again...Ok. Listen, I´m on my way. I´ll try to be fast, but it will be at least 20 minutes...will you be OK? ...yes...Ok. I´ll see you. Be safe."

He tore out of the parking lot and was on the street in no time, switched on the lights - it was an emergency after all – and waved through the traffic in a style worthy of a Hollywood movie car race.

Sam listened to Dean´s breathing. He registered when it went from shallow and short breaths to deeper, relaxed ones, and carefully turned his head to look at Dean. He was asleep. Sam watched the pale, peaceful face. So soft and vulnerable...and so different from the one he had seen just ten minutes ago, the furious, raging grimace, spitting angry words at him. He closed his eyes, feeling Dean´s body rise and fall with his breathing.

It would be 20 minutes until Cas would arrive...he should probably get cleaned up a bit.

He struggled to get to his feet, looked down at the sleeping figure on the couch once more, and shuffled to the bathroom.

He looked like crap. Well, he´d expected that much. Not that much blood on his clothes, maybe. His shirt was practically soaked, and the trousers were sticky enough to suggest they were pretty drenched, too. He got rid of the shirt, and threw it into the bathtub, soaking it with hot water; then he gingerly started to wash his face, hands, and throat, part of his hair, too; rubbed his chest with a wet towel, and was satisfied enough with the result in the mirror. His nose had started to bleed again, so he made a tamponage out of toilet paper.

Wandering over to Dean´s small bedroom, he went through the drawers of his cabinet for a T-shirt, chose a dark one to mask eventual further blood stains, and went back to the living room.

Dean was lying there, blood stained and pale and immobile, and for a scary moment Sam thought he was dead.

_He hadn´t gone out of his hiding place in two days, and he started to get restless. He had the list to finish, running out of time, and circumstances were not in his favor...sometimes he got impatient, his usual professional calmness and self-control nearly left him, and then a small incident could set him on fire, had him rage inside his bunker, until some of the frustration had worn off...but it was no good, he despised himself for those moment s of weakness. They endangered him, put the mission at risk...he couldn´t, he wouldn´t have that. The last outburst was close enough to getting his hiding place blown, it would be just pathetic to be made so close to the finale. No. He was almost there. He was able to keep his head down a little longer._

_In the end, it would be worth it._

Cas knew he was lucky not to suffer from high blood pressure, because the ride from the precinct to Dr. Winchester´s house would probably have caused him a heart attack or a stroke otherwise.

Nevertheless, his nerves were pretty strained when he finally found the unassuming small house in the not very glossy neighborhood Winchester had chosen to live in. He parked the car at the kerb, and climbed out, remembered to lock it (the doctor´s comment on how things tended to vanish from your doorstep in mind), and strode over to the steps leading to the entrance door through a front garden that showed signs of someone´s attempts on gardening during summer. Now, it looked sad and neglected and like something you held dear once, but had forgotten about long ago.

He pounded on the door to make himself known, and entered immediately, still wondering what it was he would find in there...Sam had been barely intelligible, his voice so thick and muffled...he only understood that something had happened to the doctor and that Sam had taken some collateral damage.

So he wasn´t really prepared for the blood on the floor of the hall, the smeared wall, the trace of blooddrops leading to a room to the right.

„Sam! SAM!"

„mhere...in here..."

Cas was at the entrance to a room that was obviously Dean Winchester´s living room with two long strides.

„Sam, what - "

„shhhhhhhhhh..."

Cas stopped dead. The doctor was lying on the couch, blood all over him, and so pale that for all Cas knew he could be dead; Sam was crouching on the floor, head bent back and resting on Winchester´s thigh, a towel pressed to his brow, and blood soaked paper sticking out of his nose. He looked over at Cas, a finger to his lips. So the doctor probably wasn´t dead, but asleep...

Cas felt cold and hot at the same time. He went over to Sam, who tried to get to his feet, and helped him get up, not letting go of his shoulders once he stood. He seemed a little groggy, but gestured for the door.

„Kitchen", he whispered, with a look at the sleeping man on the sofa. Winchester´s eyelashes fluttered, and one of his hands twitched, but he didn´t wake up; when Cas noticed a shiver run through the doctor´s body, he looked around for a blanket, and spread the one he found over him carefully. Sam just stood there and watched him with one eye. Then he led the way to the kitchen across the hall, at the back of the house, and heavily sat down in one of the chairs. Cas was in front of him in an instant.

„Let me see that", he said, gesturing to the towel Sam still pressed to his face.

With a shaky sigh, Sam let his hand sink.

Cas knew a broken nose when he saw one (years on duty in the streets paid off that way). The bruise above Sam´s left brow looked worse, though – a deep cut that already started to ooze blood again, the impressive swelling around it distorting the front, and closing the eye already. Cas bent down and gave it a scrutiny, not touching anything.

„The eye´s not hurt, is it?"

„No..." Sam´s voice sounded strange, unfamiliar.

„You´ll need stitches", Cas said. „We have to get you to the hospital."

When Sam tried to dab away the blood dribbling from his brow again, he grabbed his hand.

„Wait. I´ll go see if I can find some more...sterile material in the house. It´s a doctor´s home, there should be something better than a towel, don´t you think?" He smiled at the younger man, tried to sound reassuring. Sam looked pretty shaken, and Cas was burning to know what the hell had happened, but – first things first.

He had seen two more doors in the hall, and assumed one leaded to the bathroom. It did, and the room showed the signs of Sam´s efforts to clean himself up a bit. Cas strode over to the cabinet above the mirror, but found only toothpaste and floss and Dean Winchester´s shaving gear in it. He turned around to the small drawing cabinet at the wall. The first drawer was a hit. It contained a variety of band aids in a tin box, all kinds of dressing material, a full-term surgical kit in a sterilized and sealed box (it was a surgeon´s home after all), and pills in bottles. Lots of them. Cas couldn´t help himself, the detective in him got the better on his good manners, and he took the bottles out one after the other, reading the medication´s names (unknown to him, although one sounded familiar at least). All of them had been issued on Winchester, Dean within the last two months, and most were almost empty.

Cas grabbed some of the dressing material, and hasted back to the kitchen, where he found Sam as he´d left him. The cut on his brow had stopped bleeding, but Cas opened one of the packages nevertheless, and reached some soft dressing pads over to Sam.

Then he pulled out another chair, placed it in front of Sam´s, took his free hand in both his, and looked into the one good eye.

„What happened."

...Dean was cleaning the spark plugs on Sonny´s ancient Pick up truck when he heard Benny´s voice.

„Dean! DEAN! C´mon, man, let´s do something!"

Dean straightened up from the giant motor, and turned around. Benny was dead, he knew that, he´d ...he´d seen him get blown to pieces on that empty market place in a godforsaken village in Afghanistan...but yet...

„Dean! C´mon! Stop being useful, let´s have some fun! It´s the holidays, man!"

Dean grinned. He understood...they were at Sonny´s, so Benny was what, 16, and very alive, and yes he remembered that day now, the heat coming in waves off the ground, even the crickets seemed too lazy to cheep, and you could hear the distant rumbling of a thunderstorm already...the air was heavy with the scents of summer, dry grass, sun warmed wood, dusty roads.

He threw the stained rag aside, and followed the voice around the barn, and the garage.

„Benny?"

„M´he-ere!"

Dean shook his head. Playing hide and seek, seriously? What were they, five? But he smiled, because yes, Benny was five years old when it came to things like that. He heard the rustling of the tall grass at the end of the orchard, and saw a movement over there; so he sprinted over the meadow, jumped over the low wooden fence, and just followed the trace Benny had left in the waist-high grass.

„When I catch you I´ll have your ass!", he shouted, running through the corn field now, the sharp edged leaves cutting his face.

„Sure hope so!", was the reply, and Dean grinned broadly, because yes, he´d probably have it for real...they´d only started this a few weeks ago, but heck, he´d never thought it could be like this...that he could actually LIKE it, that there could be pleasure in it...

„Hey, lame old donkey! Ready for a swim?"

Dean stumbled out of the corn field, and was at the lake, although it shouldn´t be here, it was much farther away, but he didn´t bother, because finally he saw Benny...he stood on the top of the climb where the shore dropped down to the water a good 50 feet, and he was stark naked and sunburnt and looked gorgeous. Dean laughed, and ran up the hill, panting when he reached the top, and having some difficulties getting rid of the clothes sticking to his sweaty skin. Benny stood at the rim, bouncing up and down, full of energy as always, grinning like mad, and as soon as Dean was done undressing, he waved.

„Come oooon! Let´s jump already!"

Dean ran, and stretched out his hand, and Benny grabbed it, and together they jumped, and laughed, until the water surface hit them, blissfully cold, and they went under, under, under, and dived up again, still laughing, and splashing, and spitting water fontaines in the air. They race swam to the shore, and of course Dean won, he was the faster swimmer, and he climbed out of the water, shivering from the cold, and fell onto the ground panting. And then Benny was on top of him, wet and dripping and laughing, and Dean had the sudden revelation that this had to be what people called being happy.

Sam watched Cas´ and his entangled hands for a moment.

„I´s a brain tumor. Dean told me."

„Dammit", Cas murmured.

„I came over to...bring him the files, and he invited me in to have a coffee...then he had this...attack. It was scary, I thought he was an epileptic or something, but then he went completely...limp. I carried him to his bedroom, and he – we fell asleep." He looked up then, meeting Cas´ intense glance, the question in the blue eyes.

„We had sex...before it happened. I - I´m sorry, Cas..."

Cas shook his head, and reached up to lay his hand on Sam´s good cheek.

„What for? We had sex, and you had some more sex, and...I can´t say I wouldn´t have jumped on the occasion, too. That man´s a walking tease for God´s sake..."

Sam sighed.

„When I woke up, he was just giving his notice at the hospital. He quit. And then he told me..he was totally normal then, and made breakfast, and...I dunno, he opened up a little, we just talked, and were about to go to the hospital..he had to make his leave officially and all..."

Sam hesitated. He frowned, trying to remember how things had gotten so out of control after that.

„And then I made stupid comment on the orphanage or something, Cas – and he completely shut down, I don´t know, I think he could only see the policeman in me then...And I confronted him on it. And he - "

Sam took a deep breath. The change in Dean´s face...the blown pupils. That soft mouth suddenly so tight, and distorted, the whole body twisted in pain yet so...fiercely strong. Driven by rage. Sam had gone ice cold with...fear. Real fear.

„He just went...there was another attack I think, and ...he like...turned into someone else. And threw the briefcase at me. Then he just...it was like before, he just fell, and went limp, but he was awake...Cas, his eyes, he – the way he looked at me...I think he didn´t even know what was going on. He was – he was as scared as me."

Cas let go of Sam´s hand, and wiped his face.

„Holy crap", he whispered. „What a mess..."

„Yeah..."

„But – why didn´t you call an ambulance or...After the first time?" Sam could tell Cas was going to say „me". He knew the answer why.

„I was...I was ashamed."

Cas looked up. „What – because of – us? Heck, Sam, we know each other for..three days now, and had sex once – it´s not as if we are exclusive." He rubbed his face again. „Not that I would mind", he added, obviously a little embarrassed.

A smile tugged at Sam´s lips. In all the turmoil he´d gotten into here, seeing Detective Novak blush while...

„Are you proposing to me?", he asked, the smile in his voice now, even if he sounded still weird through the stuffed nose.

Cas huffed. „What can I say – I´ve got this Florence Nightingale Complex. I just have to help the wounded and suffering. And when this requires...ahem...mind blowing sex, I´m ready to sacrifice myself...and my virginity."

Sam tried to laugh, but it was difficult and hurt, so he just huffed again.

„You´re the Good Samaritan. I´m a lucky one for sure."

„`corse you are", Cas replied, smiling, and after all the disturbing events Sam had lived through during the last few hours, it took a weight off his shoulders to see that – and to be reminded that things could be easy, and fun, and maybe even more than that.

He raised his hand to touch Cas´ chin because the cleft in it just was too adorable, when he heard a sound from the door. Sam saw Cas´expression and posture change, and turned around, to find Dean standing in the doorway, staring at Sam, horrified.

...He heard a voice trough the rain. It was raining hard, a steady, calming pour down, and he could smell the green humidity and the dusty street behind the yard where Sonny kept all the broken down cars and trucks and machines to be either repaired, cannibalized, or just used to play with by the younger boys. Dean wasn´t sure why he stood there, looking over the big meadow and the corn field to the dark rim of the trees. Had he been looking for Benny? Benny had been here, he remembered that, they´d jumped into the lake, and...Dean looked onto the dark billowing clouds. The rumble of the summer storm was here now, directly around the home, and the first lightnings jagged the dark sky. The air seemed to darken, too, and had a weird green hue to it, and Dean wondered if they´d have a hail storm again, and if he should run warn Sonny and help him cover the tomatoe plants. His feet were like glued to the ground, though...he couldn´t even raise them, they felt so heavy and he felt so exhausted...he should look for Benny though. If he was out there still, it would be dangerous, the lightnings were a bitch and there was always the possibility of torn branches or falling trees...but when Dean tried to shout, his voice was as useless as his legs, and then suddenly he remembered that Benny wasn´t here anymore, that he´d died, and that he, Dean, had been left alone once more, and he just stood there and watched the rain come down in veil-like curtains and felt like the rain was inside him, too...pouring down, a white noise shutting out the world.

Until the voice murmured its way trough to him and pulled him back, out of the rain.

He recognized the voice after a while. Sam. Dean listened to the low murmur coming from the kitchen, and wondered if Sam was talking to someone on the phone, but then another man spoke, a deep, almost growling voice...Detective Novak. Why on earth was he here?

Dean opened his eyes, and saw that he lay on his couch, covered with a blanket. With a sigh, he threw it back, and gasped when he saw his shirt. Bloody. He searched his face and body for injuries with his hands, but couldn´t find any. Then the blood could only be...Jesus. Sam. Dean heaved himself up from the couch with a grunt. In his head, the usual pounding started, and there was still the sound of the rain in his ears, but he ignored it and stumbled to the living room´s door. There was blood on the floor of the hall, on the wall as well, and the old briefcase he´d packed with the documents earlier lay in the corner. Dean saw a bloody handprint on the doorframe to the bathroom. He went cold. Sam...why couldn´t he remember, dammit, all he knew was they´d argued...about...yeah, he´ d been pissed at Sam for sniffing around in his past, and they – Dean felt so dizzy, and the pounding was so annoyingly loud, it filled his ears, drained even out the rain...he had to find Sam, see if he was alright. He shuffled over to the kitchen, and saw the detective and Sam sitting there, heads put together, and Sam was reaching out to Cas´ face – and Dean tried to call him, but his throat was kind of sore and dried out, as if he´d been dreaming and screaming again...Dean stared into Novak´s piercing eyes when the detective looked up, they were...guarded; he seemed tense and ready to jump any time...and then Sam turned around, and Dean ´s stomach clenched, because the whole left side of his face was bruised and swollen, a nasty cut gaped above his brow, and the nose´s shape wasn´t right, too big, and distorted...he was smeared with blood, and the gauze he held in one hand was bright red.

Strangely enough, Dean also registered that Sam was wearing one of his shirts, the old black Lucky Brand one Jo always wanted to throw away, but he wouldn´t have it...

„Dean!", Sam called out, and wanted to get up from the chair, but Novak pressed him down at the shoulders. They shared a strange glance, but Dean was too tired to think about it, he leant against the doorframe and watched Novak get up instead, and step closer – positioning himself between Dean and Sam, covering the injured man´s body almost entirely. Dean recognized the gesture ...he was protecting the agent. From him, obviously. So the question where Sam´s bruises came from had its answer... Dean closed his eyes.

„What happened", he asked tiredly.

„You threw a briefcase at agent Campbell." Dean looked into Novak´s carefully controlled face. Dean only nodded. He remembered shouting...there was this anger raging inside him...

„I´m sorry, Sam", he croaked, barely above a whisper. „I – I´m so sorry.."

„Dean, you can´t – dammit Cas, that´s ridiculous!" Dean saw Sam get up and shove Novak...Cas out of the way.

„I can´t find your face exactly ridiculous", the detective growled angrily, all the time watching Dean, but he let Sam through, stayed close to his side though.

Dean looked up into the olive green eyes – well, one. „I could attend to that", he said, gesturing to Sam´s brow. „If you want me to. Although...I dunno." The headache was receding again slowly, maybe he had a few good hours ahead.

„We should go to the hospital now, Dean", Sam said, very gently, and Dean wondered, why the fuck is this guy so nice, I hit him with a briefcase for God´s sake, aside from obviously going totally nuts ... it was probably the dying guy –bonus. One of the things he´d feared most...pity, sympathy, false cheerfulness...things he saw daily at his job. His ex-job.

While right now, coming from Sam, it felt kind of comforting to hear a friendly voice. The ones inside his head were harsh enough.

„I´ll just go change my shirt", he said, and turned away.

In the car, they all were quiet. Cas was on the steering wheel, well, who else, and he checked on Sam in the passenger seat as well as on Winchester in the rear seat regularly. Sam seemed deep in thoughts, or maybe he was just tired and shaken and needed some time to recover. The doctor looked a little better, Cas had carefully checked for any signs of aggressiveness or dilated pupils all the time; but Winchester appeared calm and collected, had just picked the briefcase from the floor, and climbed into the car without saying much at all. He was staring out of the window, head leant against the back rest...each time he looked into the rear window, Cas felt a little twinge in his guts...the man was so beautiful it made you melancholic... and it wasn´t just the superficial beauty of a male model, posing languidely for the camera with pouting lips and a fake manly stare...it was what lay beneath, all that life...all the things Winchester had tried so hard to hide all the time. Maybe he was too tired now, or his illness muscled in...but his face definitely showed more of his emotions now. Could also be he was just above caring.

Cas was lost in his musings, so he didn´t even hear it when Sam asked him a question.

„Cas."

He jerked out of his own thoughts.

„Yes?"

„Did you find any time to go through the material at all this morning?"

„The m – Oh CRAP. I totally forgot to tell you the great news."

„What news?" Sam straightened up and watched Cas attentively.

„I got a nice phone call from the Deputy Chief. He told me in more or less friendly words that the case is no longer in our hands. He didn´t add „capable", so I think that´s what made them call in the cavallery. Obviously a special task force featuring military police and some top secret specialists of an organisation that doesn´t even have a name."

Sam stared at him aghast. „You gotta be kidding me..."

„You know I´d love to, but in this case, sadly no."

„Unbelievable", murmured Sam.

„I forgot they do that", the doctor murmured.

„What?" Cas hadn´t expected him to take part in the conversation.

Winchester sighed. „Push you around...like pawns in a chess game. They do that..."

He stared out of the window again, and sounded immensely tired. „It has nothing to do with your professional skills."

Cas huffed.

„What did you expect", Winchester said, meeting Cas´ eyes in the mirror. „Once a connection to military personnel is made, military police takes over. It´s general procedure. And as to the secret organisation...they are the ones who´ll keep the lid on everything. And clean up the mess without leaving traces. The units Walker trained weren´t exactly our advertising sign." His voice was flat, resigned. „I´m sorry for you, though."

Cas nodded, and gripped the wheel tight. „I appreciate it", he said, but Winchester was already staring at the passing buildings again. Or at nothing, who knew.

„When will they take over?", Sam asked.

„Saturday. And I´ll have the pleasure to show them around and get them all the information they need, and the Chief explicitely demanded I be friendly and cooperative."

Sam had been checking his emails and text messages on the phone.

„I got something here, too...I am to report to my superior ASAP...well, bite me. I´ll just pretend I haven´t seen that...I can´t believe they – they just took the case away from us when we had made the breakthrough!"

Again, Winchester spoke to the window. „It´s because of the breakthrough. It revealed the military side."

„Makes sense", Cas growled.

„I still hate it and I´m pissed", Sam replied.

„You and me both, Baby...", Cas said, padding Sam´s knee, and he got the glimpse of a faint smile on the doctor´s face in the rear mirror.

„You still have got two days", Winchester said slowly, eyes closed. „Use them..."

Cas looked up, surprised. „You think we can solve a case we worked months on in two days now? We´re good, but we´re no superheroes."

Sam shook his head. „I don´t know, Cas...we have a hell of a lot of new filters to feed the information we got through. It could be worth a try..."

Cas pondered the idea.

„You know, you could be right...and should we really make the final step, it would be just so NICE to rub it into their faces...and if we don´t, well – they never had much of an opinion of our qualities I guess."

„Ok...so, if we want to race whatever mysterious task force we´re up against, we´ll have to get some work done, Cas. Guess we still have the full backup of our departments until Saturday, so ...let´s use it. And honestly...I´m not above crossing a few lines any more."

Sam looked determined, and together with the bruises it gave him an unusually frightening appearance. On the other hand, he was excited like a mischievous schoolboy planning his next prank.

„Hacking? You – you would use your superpowers?"

Sam huffed. „If I have to..."

Cas shook his head. „No you won´t. It´s too risky, what with all the Them-who-shall-not-be-named agencies! You can ruin your carreer, lose your job..."

„End up in jail", the doctor murmured from behind. „And I´m not talking Folsom Prison. Think more in the direction of Guantanamo."

Sam´s head jerked around, and he winced. „Guantan- jeez. You sure?"

Winchester just looked at him, eyes hooded. „Finding this killer is not worth your life, Sam."

Sam stared at him for a moment, then he turned back to face the front window. Cas shot him a glance. „He´s right, you know?"

„I know", Sam pouted. „But now I´m even more pissed."

They´d reached the hospital, and Cas hesitated.

„You can park in the underground parking lot", the doctor said. „I´ve got the permission card with me."

Cas nodded, and they climbed out of the car a few minutes later.

„Let´s get Sam patched up first", Winchester said. „I´ll bring you to - " he stumbled. Cas grabbed his arm. „Dr. Winchester? Are you OK? Can you walk? Doctor? Doctor Winchester!" The man sure did not look Ok, but pressed a „I´m fine" through his clenched teeth. Cas didn´t let go of his arm, in fact held him around the waist, and they entered the elevator. In which universe the state Winchester was in would be defined „fine" he honestly did not know.

„8th floor", the doctor murmured, eyes closed. „I need to see Dr. Mills...you can get out on the ground floor...emergency treatment is the orange part."

Cas exchanged a look with Sam. „Can Dr. Mills attend to him too? I´d like to...keep this as uncomplicated as possible.."

Winchester glanced at him. „Yes she can. She´s a neuro-oncologist and surgeon. She should be able to set a few stitches..."

Cas kept holding the doctor, just in case, and he didn´t object to it...he could feel the man´s ribs, and a hipbone that jotted out sharply where Cas´ hand rested. He wondered how it must feel to have yourself fade away like that...first the body, than all that made you yourself...your senses, abilities, skills, memories even...because what were your memories but forgotten stories, lost books, when you couldn´t share them anymore.

So, the good hours had obviously melted down to one 30minutes break. Dean braced himself when the felt the pressure rise again, pounding against his eyeballs, turning the rainfall in his ears back on. But it stayed on a level he could still muster, maybe because of the pills he´d taken before leaving his house with the two policemen, maybe because fate was giving him a last breather before the final punch. He knew it couldn´t be long until the last round now, not with the rapid deterioration he´d lived through the last days. His anger was gone though...and the peace hadn´t come back yet, but kind of a resigned calm. Or defeat. Whatever...he gave a shit about definitions right now. Maybe a side effect of nearing the end: you dind´t fucking care any more.

Another effect seemed to be that the swear words they had so meticulously trained out of him (in a very physical way of training) at the places he´d stayed before Sonny´s, seemed to want a last chance to get out in the open...and again, he didn´t care. He could probably cash in the Dying Man Bonus again here – who would reprimand a terminally ill person for swearing, right? And he´d truly love to shout a WHATTHEFUCKISALLTHATCRAPPYSHITEVERYFREAKINGMORONICDICKISTELLINGYOUWITHOUTHAVINGTHEFAINTESTFUCKINGCLUEGODDAMMIT at the world, and that was putting it mildly, in the PG13 version. So...maybe the resigned calm wasn´t that calm after all.

The elevator halted, and they stepped out into the violet floor he´d paid so many visits to throughout the last months. He was glad Novak...Cas...was still holding him, even if he felt fairly stable right now, but he didn´t trust his body any more...and then the detective was a sight for sore eyes, and his slender, wiry body felt good against his own. You had to take it while you still got it, right...onelasttimeonelasttimeonelasttime, the mantra of your final days on earth.

He steered them over to the small recreation room/office where they might wait for Dr. Mills in case she was operating or doing rounds or whatever, when a slender figure in the dark blue hospital garment reserved for those on top of the food chain, a white coat over it, emerged from one of the doors, talking to someone behind her, „...see to it that she gets that freaking animal ASAP or I - " she stopped dead, seeing their little merry procession standing in the corridor.

„What the - " Her face fell when she saw him, only to take on a professional blankness the next second.

„Dean."

She dismissed the senior physician she´d talked to with a clipped, „I got this. You go talk to Mrs. Miller, OK? I´ll catch up later", and strode over to them.

„Dean", she repeated, just looking at him, and he knew she knew what his sudden appearance, especially with an escort, meant. She nodded almost imperceptibly, and her face softened for a moment, then she turned to Cas and Sam.

„Dr. Jodie Mills, I´m Dr. Winchesters doctor up here – and you are?" Dean loved her for not mentioning Sam´s bruised face, not even flinching at seeing it.

Cas fumbled for his ID with some difficulty, and Dean wriggeld himself out of his embracing hold (with a pang of regret) so he could reach into his pocket.

„Detective Cas Novak, and this is my partner agent Sam Campbell from the FBI. Dr. Winchester is helping us with a case, and we were with him when...when he needed to see you."

Jodie nodded.

„Let´s go somewhere more private...and you need to have that stitched up, agent. Follow me.."

She brought them into one of the examination rooms. On the way, she turned to Dean with a faint smile. „So, police and FBI, huh? I knew you were a bad boy, Dean, but hey – you´ve exceeded my expectations." He grinned faintly back at her. „You know I always do my best, Jodie..." It was good to talk to her like that...like normal, when everything was crumbling around him. Maybe he should have done that more often while he still – while there were still plenty of occasions, and still so much time ahead...talk, joke, connect. But then - that wasn´t who he was, or had been for most of his life.

„Yeah, I´ve heard that about you", she said, still smiling, and he wanted to give her a wink, but then an especially viscious pain shot through his head; he gasped, and his body contracted in reaction. He staggered against Novak, who grabbed his waist tighter, and then it was over again. He saw Jodie exchange a look with Novak, her face a worried frown.

„Just lie him down here for now...Dean? You OK with that? Dean?"

Oh. They were already in the room...he hadn´t...well. „Ok", he croaked, feeling that leaden tiredness pull at him again, and was glad when he felt the cot under his body, the cool sheet.

„Dean, I will do a CT on you in a min, let me just fix agent...whatshisname here before, OK? Did you take any painkillers today already?" Her face swam above him, a little blurry, and strangely disconnected from her body, but what the hell. He´d seen body parts flying around before, right...he nodded, and just said, „Took everything...", and Jodie squeezed his shoulder, and nodded. „I´ll see what else we can get you. Just hold on, will you?"

He looked over at her, his vision cleared again, and he watched her cleaning Sam´s wound, and getting her surgical kit ready. He might have dozed off a little, because a muffled cry woke him, and he saw a nurse and a young doctor were in the room now, too, attending to Sam´s nose. Then Jodie´s face appeared above him again...

„I´ll need the CT room ASAP, Sarah. If anyone else is trying to get in, you throw them out. You get me?" He saw the young doctor nod, a little intimidated...she was pretty, no, beautiful even...long black hair...long legs...a thought floated through his mind, how he had always appreciated beauty in both men and women, and found pleasure with both in bed..how he had never thought about it as a special gift, but maybe that´s what it really was...to be able to want and enjoy and love both sexes...a gift...

They rolled him out of the room and down the long corridor to the rooms where „The doctors played with their big shiny machines", as Benny had put it once.

He saw Sam and Novak were following, maybe Jodie had invited them over to the party...let´s go have a look at Dr. Winchester´s brain, should be fun! The foggy dizziness had vanished once more, and it was nice to be able to think clearly again.

„So, let´s get you out of these clothes", Jodie said when they had arrived.

„I knew that was the true reason behind all of that", Dean said, grinning. He fumbled with the buttons of his shirt. They were somehow slipping his fingers in an annoying way.

Sam bent over him. His nose was hidden under a white stabilizing bandage, and gauze was plastered over his brow.

„Hey there...Let me help you, OK?"

Dean smiled up at him. „As you´ve already seen me naked, I guess that´s very Ok", he said, and saw Jodie raise her eyebrows and roll her eyes in the corner of his eye. She stood in a corner with Novak and he heard them talk in hushed voices.

Sam pulled off Dean´s boots, and went on to open his belt buckle. Dean grabbed his hands.

„Sam..."

The agent looked at him with his one eye.

„ Sam, I´m sorry. I really am."

„Hey..." Sam squeezed his hands. „Don´t sweat it, OK? I´ve had worse. Broken cheekbone once, playing basketball in college." He bent low and whispered, „And I think it turns on Detective Novak to be honest. He might have this Frankenstein-thing, you know...".

Dean laughed. He looked at the tall man above him, and felt grateful.

„Thank you", he whispered, and released Sam´s hands, so he could go on.

„You can undress me now...nice and slow..."

Sam grinned.

„Everything OK over there?"; Dean heard Jodie´s voice. „You two can get a room later, cause I´m not done with you yet, Dean Winchester!"

„Seems you´ll have to get in line, Sam...", Dean said, and man, he didn´t even understand why he felt so good right now, but he wasn´t gonna complain about it. And while he was sure he would have been perfectly able to undress himself, he just let Sam help him, and enjoyed his hands touching him. Take it while you still can...

Sam stepped back. „Done", he smiled. „I´ll stop at your panties."

„Pity...", Dean murmured. The tiredness came back...pulling...

Then a nurse came in and smiled at him and Sam, and together they helped Dean on the CT machine´s table, and in no time he was swallowed by the tube once more, like so many other times since last summer.

Sam was glad when they reached the hospital, not so much because his face would be treated (he was only looking forward to „having been treated"), but out of sheer worry Dean could be crashing again before they had him safely there. But the doctor seemed to be doing fine, considering, was even taking part in their conversation, and apart from loosing his balance in the underground parking lot there were no incidents. Sam would have liked to hold Dean, instead of Cas, but the detective had been practically blocking him from the doctor since he´d arrived at Dean´s house, and his protetctiveness was kind of cute...

They ran into Dr. Mills right away when they walked down the corridor on the 8th floor (violet color stripes on the walls). She looked like one tough woman, but Sam saw the flicker of sadness cross her face when she saw Dean between them...then she was all brisk and professional and even chatting jokingly with Dean, and Sam was surprised to see the man respond to her ways, he hadn´t expected the doctor to have this kind of easy ...relationship to anyone. But then, what did he really know about the person Dean Winchester aside from his electronic trail...

It made him sad to think how he´d never get the chance to get to know this man better, who his friends were, what movies he liked, if he´d ever played an instrument. If he had a spot on earth he liked. One he called home. Real home. What the painting in his living room really meant to him. Because the way Dean was gliding in an out of clarity right now suggested that he was running out of time fast. Too fast.

Dr. Mills patched his brow together (dammit, the anesthetic injection hurt like crazy), chatting with Sam, but throwing glances at Dean permanently, Dean who lay on a cot and seemed to be out of reach again, so still...but calm. Cas watched him, sitting at his side, and Sam thought how lucky he´d been to find a man like him so unexpectedly, smart and funny and stubborn and a little crazy and sexy like hell.

Getting his nose straightened out was exactly as unpleasant as he´d imagined, local anesthetic be damned, and he wasn´t even embarassed when he cried out. Not to mention he looked like an idiot after they´d put all that stuff over his nose and brow and two cotton plugs were sticking out of his nostrils. But then it was time to get Dean´s head scanned, and he was surprised Dr. Mills let them come with her...but didn´t object of course.

At least he got a chance to get near Dean when they were already in the scan room, and Dr. Mills pulled Cas to one side while Dean was supposed to undress, and Sam noticed how he had difficulties opening his buttons, his hands seemed clumsy and slow, and he thought, what must it be like to be a surgeon, and lose the ability to use your hands...and to know long ahead it would be happening.

„Hey there...let me help you, Ok?"

Dean was absolutely clear for the moment, he could see it in his eyes, and he even joked, and Sam was so happy to see glimpses of this side of the man, that person somewhere in there not tainted by illness and pain, and war, and loss, and guilt. So the joking answer came easy to him when Dean apologized once more, such a desperate need to be forgiven in his face. And dammit, he loved that bellowing laugh, wanted to hear it more often, wanted that beautiful man to be a part of his life, hear his voice, touch his pale skin. Drive around on this old bike of his and get drunk with him and Cas and dance somewhere on a sandy beach stark naked. Wanted to share a house and a life and have two dogs for them and a cat for Cas (he seemed a cat person somehow). And he knew damn well he was fantasizing and dreaming of a life that wouldn´t even have been possible had Dean not been dying, because he knew the man (and Cas, at that) for barely two days, and when had threesomes ever worked out other than for hot sex experiences? But then, what if it HAD worked out.

He saw Dean drift away again, his eyes a little scared but losing focus, and together with the nurse who´d come in to assist, he heaved Dean onto the computer tomograph´s motorized table, and watched him roll into the white detector ring slowly, while all he really wanted to do was lie at his side and hold him and make the fear in his eyes go away.

Cas stared at the screen Dr. Mills had in front of her.

„Jesus, how is he even still walking", she murmured. She pointed at a huge white mass that filled almost the entire half of Dean´s brain, even crossing the central line at one point.

„That´s the tumor, looking white here due to te calcifications...and this is new." She sighed, circling a blurry grey region with her index finger.

„A massive oedema...brain swelling. No wonder the symptoms got so bad. Jeez, Dean..." She rubbed her front with the back of her hand.

„The tumor was already huge when we diagnosed it, but I thought he´d have more time...and that he wouldn´t have to suffer through all the symptoms. Guess the odds were against him."

„Wasn´t it risky to let him still work, and drive, with such a massive ...indication?"

She shook her head. „I had him up here every week, doing tests, and he never showed any reduction or limitation of his abilities. No dizziness, either, and we had the headaches under control most of the time...until now, obviously. Such a massive swelling must be..." She looked at the pictures again and shook her head. „The medication he had can´t have been nearly sufficient."

Sam cleared his throat. Cas turned around. The agent seemed far more shaken now than when he´d been attacked by the out-of-control Dean. Cas reached out and squeezed his arm.

„When...How long does he have, Doctor Mills?", Sam asked, voice rough.

She shook her head tiredly.

„I can´t say exactly of course, but...honestly...I´d say it will deteriorate fast now.. we´re talking days, maybe weeks. He can lose consciousness any time now, or vision, the ability to walk...you never can tell for sure, and God, I hope..." She rubbed her front again. „I hope he can go fast."

Dean couldn´t remember exactly how he had gotten into the hospital bed, there were only bits and pieces and blurred pictures, Dr. Mills, Sam, Cas, a nurses´ face swimming in and out of his field of vision a few times. He must have fallen asleep for good then, because he woke up to the rays of a low, weak winter sun falling through the room´s window. Late afternoon...wow. After weeks, months of insomnia, he´d slept for hours, and without any of the dreams that haunted him...he raised his hands to check for blood, but they were clean, and he didn´t have the clenched stomach, the aching throat that usually followed his nightmares. No sweat-drenched t-shirt either...well, no t-shirt at all. A hospital gown instead. White with a small pattern of blue points on it, as he´d seen it on so many of his patients.

From doctor to patient in three days. No, that wasn´t right...in barely 5 months. But he hadn´t felt really sick until this week. The last days...well.

Now, he felt good, though. Great, actually. The headache had receded to a faint pounding, which was a huge improvement, and the shadows around him seemed to have lifted..it felt almost normal.

He sat up, put the feet on the floor, tested the stability of his body´s new state. No dizziness, no sharp pain staggering his head. Normal vision. Great...he got up slowly, went to the bathroom, all good.

So maybe he had gotten that little delay after all. In the mirror, he didn´t seem different from the past weeks, thinner maybe, and the scruff pretty distinct by now, but well. The gown looked ridiculous, and he wondered why on earth he cared about it, but he looked for his clothes, found them in the cupboard on hangers, and slipped into his jeans and shirt.

If this was his last chance, he had to use it. Bring things to an end in an orderly fashion.

„Dean? For the sake of God, what do you think you´re doing!"

Jodie stood in the doorframe, eyes aflame.

„Jodie...I have to leave."

„You´re not going anywhere!"

„Listen, I..."

„I said no! You´re in no condition to go anywhere alone!"

He shook his head, frustrated. „I have to. Listen - " he just kept talking when he saw she was ready to protest again, „Only for a few hours. I have to go home once more and...put a few things in order. I might not have time or...be able to do it on another day."

She glared at him, arms crossed in front of her, but he could see she listened.

„I´ll come back tonight, I promise, and then you can do whatever you want, cuff me to the bed if you feel like it. But please, I...I need this one evening. Just this one."

She sighed deeply.

„I should cuff you there right now...and stop grinning, I don´t talk about black leather and whips here!", she said angrily, but Dean could tell he had won.

„Ok, you get those hours...but I don´t see your ass in here by ten, and I´ll send the lovely couple you came in here with after you, together with a SWAT team if I must. Am I clear?"

Dean smiled. Jodie couldn´t hide her military training, as far back as it might go.

„I´ll be here, I promise. And...thank you."

„ You´re welcome", she grumbled, and added, „You know exactly I can´t hold you against your will anyway. And let me tell you, you might feel great right now, but that´s because you had two bags of the good stuff IV while you were asleep, and the effect will wear off in a few hours, so...that might be a motivation to be on time, too."

„The good stuff? Finally we´re getting to the upsides", Dean said, and Jodie rolled her eyes, and vanished.

He slipped into his boots and jacket, checked for his purse and phone – yes, he´d taken them with him, thank God – and called a cab.

He stopped at the locker room to clear out his things, and remembered he still had to give his notice officially. Tomorrow. He hadn´t anything to put his stuff into, so he just shoved it into one of the huge waste bags he fetched from one of the storage rooms. A few fresh t-shirts, his sensible shoes (which he´d never thought he´d wear, but they were, in fact, sensible and comfy); the packet of cigarettes, an old hoodie, some extras for the night shifts.

Then he started to pick the fotos off the door...Sonny in front of the boys´ home, the dogs at his feet...the shot he´d made of Benny in Afghanistan two days before...the market place. His car, on the day he´d bought it, still on the dusty yard where he´d found it. Jo in Haiti, sweaty and with dishevelled hair and laughing, eyes bright. He put the photos into the pocket of his jacket, closed the locker door, and left the hospital.

Twenty minutes later, he stepped inside his house, expecting to find it as he´d left it, hall bloodstained, bathroom as well – but it was miraculously cleaned up, more so than during the last weeks as he hadn´t been able to summon up the energy to do more than vacuum or dust the furniture. Sam and Cas? Had they brought his second set of keys, or...broken in (they always did open doors with a picklock in the TV- shows, so maybe that wasn´t a myth after all)...anyway, it was weird to know someone´d been in here without him, or without even asking. It was a little annoying, but pleasing as well, how they cared...especially after what he´d done to Sam.

Time was restricted (he saw Jodie practically ticking off the minutes), so he went into the kitchen, took some paper and a pen out of the table´s drawer, sat down, and began to make a list.

Sam watched the calm sleeping face on the hospital bed for another minute before turning to Cas, who stood at the window, looking down on the busy street.

„So – what do we do now?"

Cas looked at Dean first, then at Sam. „Go back to headquarters? All the material´s there, and we won´t get around sifting through it and crossreading it once more...if we really want to do this."

„You not sure any more?"

Cas shrugged. „Seeing ...all this..." – gestured to the immobile Dean, the IV bag dripping some painkiller into his arm, the hospital room – „I dunno, it makes you think about ...how life is short, and the time will come when you regret having missed out on things..."

Sam looked down at the sleeping man who looked so peaceful...more so than he´d ever seen him awake. „Yeah...guess you´re right. But...wouldn´t catching a serial killer be worth some of our life time? I mean – we could save lives here by getting that son of a bitch, it´s not like we sit somewhere dusting archive files." Cas grimaced, and Sam remembered Cas´ job at the police archives. Dammit. „Er...sorry, I didn´t mean - "

„It´s OK. It WAS a crappy job, and definitely a waste of my lifetime. So – you want to have a try at it? Two days, 48 hours, 14 murders, one killer?"

„And two crazy guys. Don´t forget the two crazy guys."

„You mean, you and your face in the mirror?"

„Ha-ha." But Sam grinned. „Come on, it´s two days. I have the blessing of my agency to stay until Saturday. And I´d...I´d like to stay." For various reasons...to be near Dean, in case he... and to have more time with Cas. Cas, who now looked at him, smiling brightly, nose wrinkling, and nodded.

„Ok then...let´s do it. So – first things first. You´ll need your car."

They drove back to Dean´s house, and Cas let Sam get out of the car. He leant over to talk to him through the open door.

„Meet you at the department? I´ll stop by at my superior´s office first to tell him in person we will be working the case until Saturday – just want to see his face. So – take your time."

Sam waved, and went up the steps to Dean´s house. He groped for the lockpick in the breast pocket of his coat, looked up and down the street – no one to see – and opened the lock within a minute. The hall with all the bloody signs of Dean´s attack was a depressing sight. Sam didn´t even know what he was doing here...but seeing the smeared walls, the stained floor in the bathroom, he decided he couldn´t leave the house like that, just in case Dean ...in case Dean returned.

He grimaced at his own reflection in the mirror – barely recognizable under all the bandages – searched the cabinet for cleansing utensils, and started to wash the walls and the floors a few minutes later. It was good to have something to do with his hands while his thought were spinning, doing crazy jumps from case details to Dean´s brain pictures to Cas´ summary of the things they´d have to clear during the next day (a long list). When he was satisfied with the effects of his cleaning efforts, he rinsed and hung the used rags over the rim of the bathtub, went to the living room and folded the blanket Cas had pulled over Dean, shook the cushion and put it back on the leather sofa. He stood in the room that seemed so empty without its owner...empty and a little shabby, while with Dean around it looked just perfect.

Sam looked at the huge painting once more. He could almost hear the sound of the first falling raindrops, heavy and hesitant, growing to the steady rush of a summer downpour. He stepped close to the board on the free wall, filled with a few framed pictures and items that obviously had some meaning for Dean...a few stones, a braided leather wristband, a knife with an encarved handle, the blade richly engraved...maybe brought home from Afghanistan or Iraque.

A leather necklace with a weird little bronze head on it.

One of the pictures caught his eye. It showed two boys, or young men, in front of the stairs leading up to an entrance door, where a man with long hair tied to a ponytail leant against the doorframe, smiling gently. One of the boys clearly was Dean, a maybe 16 years old Dean, sunburnt and dangly and with his hair much longer and bleached from the sun; he wore only cut-off jeans, nothing else, and had his arm around the other boy´s waist..a sturdier boy, hair cropped short, but already with the shadow of a beard on his cheeks. His plaid shirt was open and showed his tanned impressive chest. Both of the boys laughed, and Sam held the picture nearer to his eyes to get a better look at Dean´s face – the laugh so open, the eyes shining, he looked young and – happy.

Sam wondered what happened to the other boy...and why Dean had buried this side of himself do deeply.

The other photos showed a group picture of an army medical team, and Sam found Dean easily among the men; and also the face of the boy from the other picture, older and with a real beard, but with the same laugh on his face. Dean´s smile looked hesitant, and Sam found the eyes already guarded...but maybe he imagined things here. The last photo was an old black and white wedding picture, scratched and creased, cut out from a newspaper...but neatly pressed into a wooden frame that reminded Sam of the one he´d made for his Mom at school once – only that the handicraft was much better here, in fact perfect. He wondered if Dean had made it...a couple smiled out of the photo, both beautiful people, and Sam could see traces of Dean in the woman´s gentle face, and Dean´s chin was clearly inherited from his father. He remembered the picture from the article on the car accident he´d found online. Their smiling faces. The torn and twisted metal of the car.

What a waste, he thought for the second time this day.

He was already turning to leave, when he noticed one more foto on the shelf, unframed, and lying face down. He picked it up...it showed a group of children arranged neatly on the stairs in front of a stone building, an archway in the background; they all wore the same shirts and short trousers, the girls skirts, and all of them were combed so strictly it hurt looking at. A severe looking priest stood at their side, an unyielding guard, a nun with a sour face on the other side. Dean was in the second row, his hair neatly parted, the shirt closed to the top button, and nevertheless he managed to look rebellious and defiant. Sam realized the times of Dean´s happy face had been the big exception.

The picture stirred something in Sam, but he couldn´t name it. He took a photo of it with his phone, put it back on the shelf, went through all the rooms once more to check on everything, and left the house, this time with the spare key he´d found on a hook near the door.

Cas stomped through the precinct´s journal room to get to their so called headquarters. It had been good to see the chief man to man, and he´d even managed to stay polite while depositing his decision to go on with the investigation until the last possible moment. The chief had a distinct dislike for him, and he knew it, and the chief knew he knew, so they kept their contacts amd conversations as rare and short as possible.

When he shook the man´s hand, he noticed the disgust that flickered over his face. God, the man was a hypocrite...despising homosexuals (not openly, policy not allowed that any more), and cheating on his wife for years at the same time.

Heads went up when he passed the desks, and he could tell from the way he was looked at that the news had already spread. He didn´t care.

In front of the huge wall board he sighed, got rid of his coat, and started with the staple of files and reports labelled „Mulroney, Frank, 10-13-13". He only hoped Sam would be here soon.

Dean looked at the page in front of him, the pretty short list he´d put together. Should do. He signed it, put it in an envelope, and went over to the living room to put it on the shelf. Someone had been here and touched the pictures, the traces of fingers were clearly visible in the dust. Sam? He´d been in here, they´d talked about Benny´s painting, he remembered that. Dean fingered the photos he´d brought from the hospital out of his pocket and put them on the shelf. The one picture he had from the orphanage had fallen out from the back of his parents´ wedding picture. He picked it up, stared at the four rows of uniformed children...the man at their side. He wasn´t sure why he still kept the picture, he had wanted to tear it, crumple it, burn it many times...but maybe he needed it as a reminder...that in the end, you were always alone, and it was foolish to believe otherwise. Everything you loved would be taken from you sooner or, if you were lucky, later. And it was wise to trust yourself only, as there were always those who took advantage...he stared at the tight lipped face of the priest standing right to his younger self´s shoulder. Father Raphael. _I´ll beat the fear of God into you if I must, boy._

„Bastard", he murmured. And he hadn´t even been the worst.

But time was short, and he didn´t want to think of that time, especially not of the weeks after they´d brought him back after...no.

Dean put the picture back on the shelf, went back into the kitchen, and left through the back door. He wanted to see his car, say good bye properly, to a dream he hadn´t been able to realize...one of many...the Impala stood there, impressive and shiny, and suddenly Dean thought, what the hell, and he went for the tires he´d bought, lined up at the wall, rolled them over (dammit, they´d become heavy), and fetched his tools from the board. He´d start her at least one time. Hear her roar.

It took him almost an hour to fix all four tires to the car, and it exhausted him so much he wasn´t even sure he´d be able to go on and get the car out of the garage; but in the end, he had her on the floor, and collected all the things standing and lying around to make room for manoevering her out. The garage´s sliding doors fully opened, he climbed into the seat, gripping the wheel, and taking in the scents – leather, oil, grease, metal – he turned the ignition. And grinned broadly when the motor immediately sprang to life for real. Dean played with the gas pedal, and the sound was amazing.

„No way I´m leaving you stuck in here, Baby."

He smiled at himself cause he was talking to a CAR, for God´s sake...and then he put in the gear, and rolled her out into the yard gingerly.

He let the motor howl a few times, then listened to the low growling sound of it for a few minutes. The headache began to wake up again, his arms and legs seemed to get heavier by the minute, so he climbed out of the car, closed the door and locked it; he stroked the elegant side once more, followed the curved line above the back door; then he turned and went into the house. Tired. He got really tired right now, and it was only..half past seven, so he had two hours; he stumbled over to the living room, fell on the couch, and felt himself drift away already while his head hit the cushion.

_He almost thought he wouldn´t get a chance to get out. He´d been patient, but it was the third day in a row_, _even his trained nerves were wearing thin. But as always, his patience was rewarded...and on the upside, he´d get to hunt down more then one tonight, which was an aberration from his routine, and risky for sure, but an exciting task he was all too willing to undertake after the days stuck in hiding._

_He chose his weapons, and consulted the map once more, just to be sure, although he´d planned it all in his mind already. Two should be no problem at all, and if he was honest, not even three. It had been almost too easy until now, due to his meticulous planning._

_He left the hiding place and walked the short distance to the garage where he kept the truck. He checked the tank, put one of the fuel canisters in the back just in case... 20 minutes later, he was on his way to the place where the first prey lived._

Cas gave a relieved sigh when he heard the voices outside – his colleagues commenting on Sam´s battered face, of course. He went to the door, glad to get out of the seat already (even if it hadn´t been more than half an hour since he´d started to work), and opened it to save Sam from the snide remarks of his less FBI-friendly colleagues, and the sometimes overflowing sympathy of Becky, one of the younger members of the department.

Obviously Sam´s donut- bribe paid off...or it was just his general easy way of making people feel comfortable, but he seemed to have made an impression, and was greeted with sympathetic or joking comments. He took them with his usual smile, and only Cas could tell it was a little strained.

„Finally", Cas said, closing the door behind him. „I began to think you were one of those guys...you know, have one fun night, and vanish for eternity, leaving broken hearts behind."

Sam grinned at him, getting rid of his jacket. „Broken hearts after one night? Damn, I must be good..."

Cas had missed their easy bickering and joking. With all that had happened, Dean, the hospital...but now, they were back to it as if they´d never stopped.

„So – are you ready?"

Sam shrugged. „Now or never, right?"

„Yes..."

After two exhausting hours, they had narrowed the field of suspects down to 45 people. It was a progress, but it was slow, and Cas began to think they´d probably been too enthusiastic. He´d called two of his people to help them get more background information (the other two had already been put on other cases). Sam was doing his best on the computer, but as Cas wouldn´t allow him any tricks (he should be damned if he let him go to jail for it), he was slowed down too.

The sun went down, and the room outside emptied, as most of the colleagues were done for the day...and they still searched, cross-referenced, made calls, dug into everything that was there to find online.

At 7.30, Cas heard Sam´s stomach growl perceptibly.

„You´re so right", he sighed and rubbed his eyes.

„Dinner?", Sam asked from a desk in the back of the room, had to be case 11 or 12, Cas thought.

„Dinner or die", Sam grumbled.

„The tea room across the street serves a few meals, too...pan-asian, I´d say. They´re good."

„Sounds good to me."

Cas noticed the rather untypical subdued tone. Well, Sam had a long, tough, and challenging day – both physically and emotionally – on his shoulders.

„You OK?", he asked, walking over to the chair where Sam stretched his arms, rolled his shoulders, and then touched his bandages with his fingers gingerly.

„I hate those", he said grumpily.

Cas stepped behind the chair and began kneading Sam´s shoulders carefully. „But they make you look so pretty, hun!"

„If you like them, I can easily arrange some for you, too", Sam said, cracking his fingers like the cliché muscles in movies.

„Ah, you´d never lay a hand on me, sweetheart", Cas warbled.

„Don´t be too sure about that", Sam said, suppressing a laugh. „If I think of last night..."

Cas giggled. „Ah, THAT...you have my permission to lay a hand on that special part of me any time, sweety..."

„I bet", Sam huffed. „Always the same story...first they invite you, and then it´s endless complaining about harassment. Women...ouch!"

Cas had given his shoulders a good squeeze. „You´re the one with the long hair, which naturally makes you the woman in this relationship."

„Oh, is there a relationship? I wasn´t aware, sorry..."

Cas turned his eyes to the ceiling, pressing both hands on his chest.

„Ahhh, the pain again...how can you be so cruel...after all the time we spent together!"

Sam laughed.

„You´re the craziest person I´ve ever met."

„I take that as a compliment...so, thanks."

„You´re welcome...can we go have something to eat now? I don´t want to faint right here and be unconscious...you know, I would be such an easy prey..."

„Don´t worry, your Guardian Angel is on duty tonight..and has to make up for earlier negligence, so..."

Sam got up, and grinned.

„Guardian Angel, huh...I think I like that."

„Of course you do – it´s me we are talking of!"

Sam faked a shocked face. „YOU? Oh no, and I thought you were talking of Becky out there..."

At which Cas could only laugh out loud. Jesus, he seriously began to fall in love with the man in front of him.

Sam sipped his tea carefully. It was boiling hot. He watched Cas´ slender fingers, wrapped around the fragile cup.

After this weird hell-of-a-day, it had been so good to just fool around and have fun. And with Cas, it always seemed effortless...and they could switch from serious to totally dorky within a second. I´m lucky, he thought, again, how come I´m such a lucky guy...and others are not? How can this be fair?

Dean´s face ... shut down. Defiant. Laughing. Torn. Scarily angry. Twisted in pain.

It seemed as if with the accident, all his luck had been smashed and torn like his parents´car...a few shatterd pieces were all that was left.

„You think he´s OK?" Cas looked up from the short menu.

„Dean? He´s in good care, Sam. And he gets morphine, so I guess...yes."

„Yeah..."

The picture ghosted through his mind again...neat rows of children. A face, old beyond its age. The scratchy uniforms.

Sam rubbed his neck. It was as if he could feel the rough fabric on his skin.

„So, what do you take?"

„The curry, hot version."

„Ah." Sam scanned the menu once more. „I´ll have the dim sum. And the soup."

„Yeah, you gotta feed this huge body of yours."

They ordered, and fortunately their food came in no time, as Sam was really hungry by now. They ate in silence, only smiling at each other from time to time – well, pretty often actually. Having Cas here, right in front of his nose, made Sam feel better, despite the dark thoughts that cast shadows over him.

„So...do we just go on like this? It hasn´t been very successful so far. Maybe I could - "

„No you can´t."

„Cas, we - "

„Over my dead body!"

„You´re the one with the unconvential methods, that´s what I –what I heard!"

„Unconventional yes, but not- not outside the law! And not if it endangers -"

Cas´ phone rang.

„Novak!"

Cas frowned, raised his eyebrows, looked at Sam with a slightly shocked expression on his face. Went white and completely immobile. Sam straightened. He stared at Cas, his stomach clenching.

„You sure?"

He looked at Sam again, nodded, said, „Thanks, Charlie. Let me get back to you", and hung up.

„That was Sergeant Bradbury, she´s on the team...quite the computer freak, you´d love her. She just found out..."

„What?"

„She was digging into the victims´past once more, but obviously deeper than

anyone else - "

„- or she was using a few tricks", Sam murmured.

Cas shot him a bitchface.

„..and she found out four of them got some payments refunded by the same health insurance company within the last year. When she started looking more specificly, she connected similar refunding to eight of the victims, by different insurance companies though."

Sam was puzzled. „So – what did they have in common? An illness? Or is it some kind of fraud?"

Cas shook his head. „No, no fraud. And they weren´t sick themselves. Sam, they - "

He stopped, and looked at Sam with a hint of fear in his eyes that made Sam turn cold inside.

„What", he whispered.

„They all had their kids treated during the last 2 years. They got surgery."

No, Sam thought. No, no, no. Don´t say it. Please, this can´t-

Cas looked miserable, positively horrified.

„Sam, they all – they were all patients of Dean."

_It wasn´t ideal, of course it wasn´t..it was way too early to be sure not to be disturbed...on the other hand, his prey was sitting on his ass in his office, had been doing so for the last half hour, and the rest of the family watched TV in the living room, or were in bed already. Maybe it was even easier that way...provided no unforeseen incidents came in his way._

_He didn´t even bother to leave the truck somewhere farther away. Time. Time was a priority._

_There was even an advantage – the alarm systems hadn´t been set yet, as the owners were still awake. That would make his entrance so much easier... he just opened the gate to the back alley with his cutting tool, slipped in, calmly walked over the lawn to the back door of the house. It was no match to his lockpick. He was inside the house within two minutes...he needed a moment to catch his breath and get orientated. The living room was easy to spot, the artificial laughs of some talk show were filling the hall. The office was at the back, at Dean´s left side, and he took out the weapon, went over to the door, opened it, strode to the desk, and had the throat of the man wrapped tightly with the thin rope before he could even react with any facial expression. He tightened it some more at the right place, so that the man stopped struggling instantly, and waited for a minute for the body to become limp. He let the corpse glide down on the floor, and went to quietly shut and lock the door. When he turned to take the tarpaulin out of his bag, the duffle bag wasn´t there._

_He realized he´d forgotten the bag in the car. _

_It was unacceptable. The Hunter didn´t - but he had. Well, he would improvise. He took the knife out of the thigh holster, kneeled down, and opened the dead man´s fly; got up once more, and found a box of tissues on the desk. He pulled out at least 20 tissues, pressed them into a ball-like shape, and stuffed the man´s trousers with it. The he carefully laid the limp penis on the man´s belly, held his balls, and cut them off. The good thing with corpses is that they don´t bleed much, even if they are still fresh. He had nothing to put the cut-off testicles into, so he just grabbed a few more tissues, and wrapped them around the human parts. He closed the trouser´ s fly, arranged the corpse more naturally, wiped the blade , unlocked the door, and peeped out; the TV audience was still laughing hysterically._

_The Hunter left the house less then 7 minutes after he´d opened the back door. He walked over the yard to the wall that separated it from the street, opened the gate, and went outside into the deserted back lane. The truck was waiting for him, he climbed in, started the motor carefully, laid the souvenir on the passenger seat, and left._

Sam sat there, frozen, staring at Cas.

It didn´t have to mean anything. It was a coincidence. Only 8 out of 14, that left too many cases out. It was connected, but in a totally different way. It-

„Sam."

He saw Cas move the plates to the side, and take his hands in his.

Dean´s attack. The horribly distorted face. The cold rage. That weird voice when he...

„Sam, listen to me. Sam!"

He snapped out of the loop of pictures, voices, bits of reports he remembered.

„We have to check Dean´s last months for the murder nights..." Sam flinched. Cas went on, „...if he´s got alibis. It can still be a – something else."

Sam looked at him, grateful Cas tried to soothe it for him. But he saw it in his eyes – they both knew there were no coincidences like that...

His stomach clenched violently, he screetched back the chair, and stumbled to the back of the room between the few tables, reaching the men´s room just in time. Throwing up everything he´d just eaten, but retching for much longer, all he could think of was Dean crouching at the floor in his bathroom, white-faced and shaky and weak, his green eyes so tired...

„Sam? Sam, you OK?"

He leant against the wall, wiping his mouth with a piece of toilet paper.

„Fine", he croaked shakily. „Just a - just a minute."

When he came out of the booth, Cas stood there, looking worried and restless and oddly sad. He grabbed Sam´s arms. „You sure you´re OK? You looke like a ghost."

That´s because I feel like one, Sam thought.

„I´m Ok...sorry. That was unprofessional..."

Cas huffed. „Unprofessional? Screw unprofessional. I saw how you looked at the guy, Sam, as if he were some childhood hero come to life for you, only you couldn´t remember his fantasy name or something."

Sam smiled weakly. Cas was dangerously perceptive...

He washed his mouth at the sink, taking the paper towels Cas reached him to dry it and wipe the bit of his sweaty front he could actually touch.

Then he leaned his arms on the rim, and looked at Cas in the mirror.

„So – we´re going to the hospital? Check his shifts?"

Cas nodded. „Yes..and Charlie is trying to link the other victims to the pattern somehow...are you fit to move?"

Sam sighed. „Yes."

Cas paid, and they left the tea room, followed by the curious glances of the other customers. Cas had Sam sit in the car while he hasted up to the headquarter room to fetch Sam´s laptop. He leant back his head, trying to ban the pictures from his mind...the crime scene shots, the perfectly arranged victims...the missing testicles. For a moment, he was absolutely sure they were wrong – it couldn´t have been Dean, not the reserved, quiet man with the shy smile, even less the man he´d seen joking with Dr. Mills, or smirk at him teasingly...no. but then, his mind mercilessly presented statistical data about serial killers he´d read, about the quiet, unassuming men in your neighborhood who lived their normal lives, unconspicuous, friendly even. Something Dean had said when he made breakfast for Sam stirred his mind...how he´d not had someone over for quite some time...his garage with the stunning car in it, the perfect hobby for a reclusive. The sudden outburst of violence in there when they had sex, and how it scared and pleased Sam at the same time...he´d taken it as a sexual preference, but – what if it wasn´t, what if it had been this other side of him, the one that spit cold raging words at the world...at him. That had hurt him deliberately...

The car´s door opened, and Cas reached Sam´s laptop over and climbed behind the steering wheel. He sat there for a moment, gripping the wheel, staring out of the windscreen.

„You know I – I was hot to catch this killer, I really was...and in a sense, I still am. But I – now I´d rather we didn´t have a suspect at all. Not that one, I mean. Not him."

„I know", Sam said, feeling exhausted. „So do I."

They drove to the hospital in silence. When Cas pulled over right in front of the entrance door and put the police parking permission sign on the dashboard, Sam stared at the brightly lit entrance.

„You think it´s the tumor?", he asked quietly, because the thought had tortured him during all of the drive, the uncertainty...what if it wasn´t. What if this killer was just a part of Dean...his dark side Sam didn´t want to see.

Cas glanced over. „I don´t know, Sam, but...I would think so. Dr. Mills said character changes are often seen in brain tumor patients...maybe not in this extreme way. But then..." His voice trailed away.

Sam waited. „What..."

Cas sighed. „You know, when he told us about...this major, the units, his own participation there...I wondered how you could live with such a past. And I – I had the impression he couldn´t, actually. That he was struggling against the guilt...the self- loathing. It would be a perfect ground for..."

„..becoming a psychopath", Sam finished.

Cas looked at him. „I´m sorry, Sam. I know you..you care for him."

Sam stared at his laptop, his immobile hands. „Right now, I don´t even know who it is I care for. Or why. I don´t – I don´t know him, Cas! It´s just – the moment we met him, I had this feeling...I dunno. And it got even stronger when...later."

Cas watched him carefully, he could feel it. „I´m sorry", he repeated.

Sam sighed. „Let´s go", he murmured. „There´s still a minimal chance we´re wrong, right?"

„There always is", Cas replied, and they got out of the car.

_The next target lived pretty far away, in one of the ever growing new housing areas on the frayed rims of the city. It´d take him almost an hour to get there, given peoples´ late shopping hours so close to Christmas; he had considered letting this one go for good, in order to get to the final, far more important target...but then he´d dismissed the idea. It wasn´t a real problem, he had all night after all, even if something kept nagging at the back of his mind that in fact, he hadn´t, that he had overlooked something...but then it was maybe only the aftermath of his grave mistake. All the preparation of the world would be useless when the execution was sloppy. He wouldn´t tolerate it in others, and far less in himself._

_The drive calmed him down, though, and he felt focused and well balanced if a little tired by the time he pulled to the kerb a few houses from the target´s home. It was the kind of neighborhood where everything out of the normal would be suspicious in a few years; now, it was still a mixture of already inhabited, empty, and only half finished houses, and he was sure he´d not draw any attention. Closing in on the house, he could hear the sound of a TV, sports, obviously; and the cheering of voices, more than two, male, and already slightly drunk if the volume was any indication. That was an inconvenience...if there were guests present, it would complicate things enormally, if he didn´t want to kill them all (which wouldn´t have been a problem, technically), and he had no intention to kill anybody who wasn´t on his list and deserved it. He wasn´t a killer. He was a hunter. He killed for a reason._

They were just inside the hospital building when Cas´phone rang again. He looked at the display. Charlie, God bless her.

„Charlie, I´m putting you on speaker so Agent Campbell can listen in. Just a min, we´re going outside...Shoot."

They stood in a corner where obviously the smokers met. Cas tried to wrap his coat around him more closely. It had become pretty cold over the last hours, finally the weather had decided to change into winter mode. Cas could smell the snow in the air.

They put their heads together, listening to Charlie´s fast update.

„I found the connection to the rest of the victims, Castiel. It´s the kids, too, only not their own as they have none. They all work with children somehow, school bus driver, teacher, running one of those horrible Plucky Pennywhistle places...you see the pattern. And I found out something else...Dr. Winchester filed official reports to child service about ..18 months ago, for three of the kids he operated. The first three victims´ kids actually. He accused the fathers or in one case a tutor of child abuse...but obviously, nobody ever got charged. There´s nothing in that direction afterwards, but

Detective, I - "

„...you see a clear motive here, don´t you", Cas finished her sentence heavily.

„Yes."

„Thank you, Charlie, that´s – that´s the breakthrough I guess. We´re right in front of the hospital, so we´ll have Winchester´s timeline checked for eventual alibis; we can maybe find some colleague who can give us further information on the three cases. Or the following ones, at that. If you find out anything else.."

„I´ll call, yes. Bye."

Cas pocketed his phone and looked up at Sam. He seemed resigned...against all odds, he´d probably still hoped there was another explanation for Dean´s connection to the victims´names. Cas wondered for the umptiest time what it was that drew the agent to the doctor like bees to the honey...no, it was more like...like an old spell coming to life again, capturing his imagination, captivating him. No, that was – no. He was totally overinterpreting here...in the end, he was jealous, and he damn well knew it. Plus, the doctor hadn´t left him cold, either. He was fascinating, a human riddle, perfect for inquisitive minds like theirs...and hell, the sex appeal. He couldn´t explain why, but when Cas thought of the doctor, naked, it weren´t pictures of snuggling and cuddling soft sex in pastel colors and misty afternoon light that came to his mind...rather the opposite, hard, violent sex on a table, bodies slammed against walls, crashing furniture...the like. And that was even before Winchester had shown his aggressive side turning nuts and hurting Sam. And yes, he had fantasized about doing exactly that with the doctor, crazy painful sex without the niceties, and it had turned him on immeasurably...

Cas snapped out of his thoughts. They had to react now.

Sam stared into the hospital lobby through the glass walls, hands deep in his pockets, seemingly far away.

„Sam." He touched his arm gently. „Let´s go in."

_Now that he was out and on his mission again, his patience was back. He felt calmer than during the last days. He knew his prey had to leave the room sometimes, to go to the bathroom, fetch new beer, whatever. All he had to do was wait._

_His position was perfect, shielded from sight in he shadows, with a perfect view on the three men inside the window. They had the usual beer/crisps/pizza mess on the table and floor around them, and it was interesting to follow the game (football, obviously) through the reactions on their faces...joy, disappointment, worry, anger. Overwhelming enthusiasm. Have you ever shown half of this passion for those who you were supposed to care for, the Hunter thought. They´d have earned it, needed it, and you didn´t see, didn´t feel it...you failed them. Here you are, cheering for people you don´t know, who will never meet you in your life, or even know you exist. And on the other hand, you never had anything but contemptuousness for your own kin. Gave them nothing but fear and pain where you were supposed to be loving and encouraging._

_He watched the man between his friends, carefree and elated by the alcohol...remembered his indignation...but he´d made him, he´d become an expert in this field over the time. And now, it was time to cash in the lost chances. The credit had been cancelled._

They drove up to the 8th floor in silence. Sam dreaded the moment they´d meet Dean again. The man either was seriously schizzophrenic due to the tumor or a cold blooded psychopath – either way, how did you meet someone like that? Treat him? If he was in his „normal" state, did you just pretend nothing was wrong, that you didn´t know...

And then there was the charge. Sam was convinced, HAD to be convinced it was the tumor that had turned Dean into the...the monster he seemed to be...how did you press charges against an illness...

And then, he remembered Dr. Mill´s words... days, maybe weeks. Maybe they wouldn´t have to accuse anyone after all. No one alive at least.

And with a part of his mind he was deeply ashamed of Sam wished they´d find Dean already gone when they´d enter his room.

_Of course, his chance came. The problem wasn´t getting his prey alone, or killing it...the problem was it would be missed rather soon. He would have to be on his way fast after he´d put it down._

_When his target got up to bring out a bag full of their trash and fetch a new six pack from the porch behind the house during half time break, his friends noisily announcing their need to go to the bathroom, he knew he got lucky. Break was 15 minutes at least, and the other men wouldn´t probably go looking for their colleague before the next quarter started._

_He watched him dump the trashbag in the bin, and turn around to go to the back of the house. Luck was really on his side that day, because he didn´t walk through the house, but chose the way alongside it, right where The Hunter waited for him in the dark._

_The moment his prey had passed him, staggering slightly, he jumped it, knife drawn, and had his arm around the throat in the grip that made you loose consciousness within a minute. He pressed, and raised the knife for the final stab...the target was strong, though, he wrestled and faught against his grip, kicked with his legs..the Hunter panted, he couldn´t set a clear stab with all this commotion, there was too much movement...they crashed against the wooden wall of the house, and he could smell the still fresh wood, and it stirred up images in his mind...a wooden porch, his hands on freshly cut beams to replace old, moulding ones...the laugh in his back..._

_His target hit him with his elbow, right into the ribs, and he had to gasp for breath for a second, loosening the grip around the throat. The prey wanted to flee, and he couldn´t have that...he grabbed the knife tightly, and just rammed it into the chest from behind..it wasn´t perfectly aimed, he could hear and feel the rib he´d hit, but the blade glided through to the heart, and he pushed, pushed, and kept the man still upright with his other arm around his neck, until the jerking and flailing stopped after a few seconds._

_He let the target fall unceremoniously, gasping for air. It was the first time one of the targets had had the chance to attack him. His chest hurt pretty bad, he was sure at least one rib was broken. Well, it wouldn´t matter anymore. He´d done his job here, and as they´d been outside, and it was dark, he didnt even bother to arrange the body or clean up the place or himself. Just one to go...the last, the big finale. He leant against the wall, the scent filling him, concealing the iron smell of the blood, confusing him for a moment...he´d worked on the porch, yes, and ...there were voices, _Benns´y laughter coming from under the porch, „You´ll never believe what I found here!", and_ he was tired, but he had one more to go. One._

_He stepped over the body, crouched down with a grimace, and opened the trousers. He shoved down the pants, grabbed for the testicles in the dark, and didn´t care this time how to set the cut, he just hacked at them, and they came lose easily enough...after a moment of consideration, and wincing when his rib moved with his arm´s movement, he grabbed the penis as well, and cut it off with a feeling of satisfaction. Then he straightened up with a suppressed grunt, holding his side, looking down at the dark heap on the ground. With a shrug, he threw both the testicles and the penis on the ground. He was done collecting...he´d almost reached his goal, and this bastard didn´t even deserve to have his equipment preserved._

_He walked around the house, still panting, and went to his car, getting rid of the sticky gloves and shoving them into the waste bag on the back. He gripped the sides for a few seconds, waiting for the dizziness to pass, it was annoying, so was the pain that shot through him, he´d always kept it at bay so far, it wasn´t his pain, it belonged to someone else._

_Then he climbed into the seat, and pulled off the kerb to find his last target._

The nurse at the counter looked up when they stepped out of the elevator, and smiled, recognizing them (well, Sam was hard to miss on a normal day, and now, with half of his face in bandages, he made quite an impression). They approached her, as she would sure be quicker in finding Dr. Mills than both of them.

„Could you please call Dr. Mills for us? It´s quite urgent...we´ll be in Dr. Winchester´s room, she´ll find us there."

„Oh, but Dr. Winchester has left a few hours ago. He´ll be back - "

„HE HAS WHAT?"

The nurse looked at Cas aghast. „Ahem..he left to go home, but - "

„Call Dr. Mills. Now. We need her ASAP."

The nurse was pretty frightended by his strange behavior, Cas could tell, but he couldn´t help her. He looked up at Sam, who had his phone out of his pocket and dialled.

„Dean?", Cas asked quietly. Sam nodded, and waited with the phone at his ear...then he shook his head. „He isn´t answering."

„Dammit..."

„You don´t think he..."

„I pray to God he isn´t!"

The nurses´eyes darted back and forth between them, confused. „Has something happened to Dr. Winchester? He seemed well when he left, but as he´s sick – oh God, he isn´t - "

Sam gave her a reassuring smile, and Cas was glad about it, as he wouldn´t have managed to produce one. „As far as we know, he´s OK and at home safe and sound. He´s probably only fallen asleep...but we want to be sure he´s fine. Dr. Mills?"

The nurse didn´t buy his story, Cas could tell, but seemed to calm down nevertheless. „I put out a call and paged her, she will be here as soon as possible."

Sam nodded, and turned to Cas. „What now?"

Cas bit his lower lip. „We have to get a list of his patients between 18 months and 6 months ago – only those with kids or working with children." He spoke fast and low, an urge to be on the way already pushing him forward.

„I´ll go down to his floor and try to check it out", Sam said. „If they let me use their system, it should be doable fast."

Cas nodded, and opened his phone. He would alert Charlie as well. They had to find the next potential victims before...

And what if Dean went home like the nurse said, and just fell asleep, he had to be exhausted...he wanted to believe it. He really did.

„Detective?"

stepped out of the elevator, in her surgical scrubs.

„Oh, thank God", Cas muttered, and approached her. „Dr. Mills, can we talk somewhere private?"

She just opened one of the doors and waved. „Come in here."

Cas went in, closed the door, and didn´t lose any more time.

„Doctor Mills, how far can the character change in brain tumor patients you mentioned this morning go?"

She watched him attentively. „Anything between forgetfulness and violent outbursts. Memory loss and depression are most common, fatigue, permanent frustration, anger...why do you ask me that, Detective Novak?"

She looked worried.

„Can a brain tumor cause symptoms similar to schizophrenia or split personality?"

„In extreme cases maybe...are we talking about Dean?"

So he told her. She turned paler the longer he went on, but didn´t interrupt.

„Jesus", she murmured when Cas finished. „And you think he – he might actually – kill someone again?"

Cas raised his hands in a helpless gesture. „We don´t know. Sam is trying to find out right now..."

He watched her rub her face, then she buried it for a few moments.

„Oh God", he heard her murmur. „If you´re right...if it was Dean who...oh my God."

„I´m sorry", he said, and felt it was as inadequate as before, when he´d said it to Sam.

„You were – you are friends, right?"

She straightened and looked at her hands. Then she shot him a glance. „Honestly? We didn´t have much contact before...before his diagnosis, only the professional stuff. We are both ex military, and I always had the impression he avoided me because of that. And then he...well, he was always a very reserved person. Never came to the few social events...no, wait, he did attend a few with Jo. His girlfriend ...ex-girlfriend now. Anyhow – he was adorably shy, or an unsocial recluse, opinions differ." She smiled to herself.

„When he came up here to have his head scanned, he´d already suffered from severe headaches for months. You know the rest. And well, he had to come up for his weekly checks, so – we became kind of used to each other I guess. And...you know, I was surprised who hid behind all that ...armor."

She looked at him, and he knew what was coming before she asked.

„If he really is this killer you were talking of...what will you do? He´s terminally ill, detective. You don´t seriously - "

He shook his head. „He won´t go to jail, not even to any trial in his condition. If he even..." Why was it so hard to say it out loud? Someone was dying, rather sooner than later, he knew it, they knew it. But it still had this ...superstitious flavour. Cas shook his head. „If he even makes it that long. It takes weeks to prepare the trial, and...well."

„But – can he even BE accused of anything? If his normal self doesnt even remember?"

Cas shrugged his shoulders. „First, we don´t know that for sure – in a juridical sense, Dr. Mills, of course WE know - , and second, probably not."

She sighed heavily.

„Still, he´ll be so..exposed...the media...oh God, they´ll slaughter him alive...and he won´t even remember what for."

_Another long drive, more tiring than the first, even if traffic slowly receded to normal. The fight had been draining him, and the punch in his ribs, clearly payoff for a moment of distraction, had come unexpected. Even acting on an improvised schedule in comparison to his usual flawless work, it was unacceptable. For the last target on his list, he would have to regain his self control, focus, and striking power 100%. _

_He weaved through traffic, almost crossing the whole town, until finally the right exit got him off the motorway and on quieter streets. Around him, three to four storey buildings, the typical small shops, the Christmas decoration less pretentious than in the suburbs, only the usual colored light chains wrapped around entrances and some trees. As he drove on, even those grew fewer, the neighborhood being rather poor, already mixed with industrial buildings, small companies, garages. He took a turn to the right, and saw the tall concrete building at the far end of the street. His destination._

_It had been some small company´s headquarters once, but been bought cheaply by the city after the financial crash, and hastily turned into a childrens´ home with as little money, effort, and consideration as possible. On his stake outs, he´d gotten proof for the indifference of society towards their weakest members...those who weren´t considered useful, worthy...kids picked from the streets, from addicted parents living in disgusting circumstances, left overs from crumbling families. No one invested in those children. No time, no money. No love. _

Sam´s FBI ID had impressed the nurse at the counter in General Surgery enough to make her call the Head of the section, who even showed up and had Sam sit in his office and use the computer for his research, calling a young doctor to help him find his ways through the hospital´s patients´ surgery data memory system. He got a never ending list of names, people operated by Dean after the ...victims.

Sam dismissed the doctor, who in fact had been quite eager to see him work; but he didn´t want to reveal any hint where his search was leading...yet. he started cross-referencing the list with the patients´ personal data, using his laptop as well, and after 15 minutes, he had narrowed it down, but not enough. He shoved his hands through his hair in frustration. If Dean really was trying to – but it wasn´t Dean, the real Dean, right...he repeated that to himself, a hopeless mantra – kill someone else tonight, they were running out of time...he read trough the names on the screen. Which one would be the next...which one deserved dying, in Dean´s twisted mind?

The thought stirred something...he keyed in another term to run the list through a filter once more.

One name came up, connected to the case of a Turner, Jesse, 9 years old (appendicitis operation). One Milton, Zachariah, age 56. Head of Riverside Valley Childrens´ Home and Shelter.

Cas left Dr. Mills to find Sam, and was in the elevator, when his phone rang again.

„Novak?"

Reception was too crappy, all he could hear was crackling and bits of some excited voice. He swore, and willed the elevator to go down faster.

He almost jumped out of it when it finally stopped.

„Novak! Hello!"

„Detective Novak?"

„Yes!"

„Ah, I think I lost you before. Officer O´Brian here. We have another murder victim, sir."

Cas closed his eyes. „Where?"

„Ahem..Jefferson Lane 3481, that´s in the northern suburbs. Male, 46, obviously found by his wife. Strangled. And..."

„Let me guess...his balls are missing."

„Yes."

„I´m on my way. CSI already there?"

„On their way too."

„I´ll meet you there."

Cas hung up, and let out a deep breath. So it had happened for real.

He quick dialed Sam.

_The Hunter parked the car not far from the Childrens´ Home in the parking lot of a decrepit factory building. He leant back and observed the back of the ugly grey house, almost all windows dark, looming in the not very appealing neighborhood. It had no garden, not even a playground, only a concrete yard for playing basketball, and a sad swing in one corner. He knew the „river" was near, forced into a concrete bed too, but it offered at least interesting playgrounds, if dangerous and dirty; he knew kids would love searching the waste and drywood the river left on its sides, and using the left buildings around the area to play war, or monster hunt, or Batman-saves-Gotham City. It was what he´d have done as a kid..sneaking away to find shelter in a world of his own fantasy. And taking the consequences for it...punishment for a few hours of joy._

_He stirred when the car got cold. Had he fallen asleep? He checked the watch... It was no problem though, as he had to wait until he´d find his target alone for sure – he couldn´t risk another mistake. Not before it was done._

_Snowflakes were slowly dancing down, the first of the year. He remembered how they´d gotten excited each time when the first snow fell, even if it meant frozen feet and hands and endless shovelling duty...it was a kind of hope in it, everything looked new and clean and untouched, a new deck of cards. Of course, the dream always ended in dirty pools of slush and chilblains after a few months._

_Another light went out. He knew where his target would be, knew the room, had the plans of the house memorized, so he could get there in darkness too._

_Soon._

Sam printed the list of names he´d reduced his search to, and was about to leave the Chief Surgeon´s office, when Cas called him.

„Yes?"

„Sam, we got another victim. Where are you?"

„What? Shit...I´m leaving right now. You down here already?"

„Yes..."

When Sam left the room and walked down the long corridor, he saw Cas stand in front of the elevators, his trench coat crumpled, hair a mess, as he was shoving his hands through it even while Sam watched him. He talked to someone on the phone, frowning, and hung up right when Sam finally reached him.

„Cas?"

The detective turned around. „Sam. Just got the call. It´s in the northern suburbs."

„Are they sure it´s.."

„Yes."

Sam grabbed his laptop a little tighter. „When?"

„Just talked to the medical examiner...she thinks about 2 hours ago, maybe even less."

„Dammit."

„Yeah...Let´s move."

In the car, Sam dazedly listened to Cas´ summary of Dr. Mill´s opinion.

„She cares for him", Cas said. „Was worried about...a trial. The media."

Sam closed his eyes. Saw the greedy pack of reporters, the microphones, the cameras. Vans with satellite discs on the roofs. The excited voices on the screen, the close-ins on the „monster". Dean´s pale face.

„Sam?"

He shook his head to drive away the images.

„Sorry."

„Did you find out anything on ...other patients?"

Sam pulled the print out. „Whole list of them. Wait..what´s the victim´s name?"

„Ahem...Franzen."

„Let me – ah. Franzen, Jeremy. Son needed surgery last May."

„Shit."

„Cas, I got 23 other names here."

„Holy crap. How are we supposed..."

„I know. But there´s one ...I dunno, but I think we should check out this one guy. He runs a children´s home."

Cas glanced at him. „A childrens´ home."  
„You know, with Dean´s history..."

„You´ve got a point..."

Cas´ phone rang again, and he put it on speaker.

„Detective Novak? O´Brian again. CSI has arrived. Passing you on right now..."

„Novak? Fanelli here. Listen, we haven´t done a real swipe of the place now of course, and the wife made a damn mess of the scene, but...something´s off. I´ve been to most of the past crime scenes, and this...it´s different. Might even be a copycat."

„A copycat?" Cas sounded doubtful. Sam straightened. Hope sparked up inside him, unwanted, unexpected...maybe? Maybe there still was a minimal chance that...

„Thank´s for the heads-up, Fanelli..we´ll be on the road for another ten, fifteen minutes."

They stayed silent for a few minutes.

Finally, Sam just burst out. „Do you believe it could..."

Cas shook his head. „No." He glanced over again, even laid a hand on Sam´s arm. „Sam, don´t get your hopes up. You´ll only get disappointed. If he – if Dean changes his routine, it might have many reasons. The illness is affecting him badly right now. He´s in a haste, knowing he´s running out of time. Or he´s just beyond caring. We don´t know. But..it´s him, and you know that."

Sam stared out of the window. „I know", he sighed after some time. „I know that, Cas. It´s only...from the start, I had the feeling as if...I had to protect him from something, or...pull his real self out of some personal hell he´s imprisoned in...where he is torturing himself out of guilt and shame...I..."

„Sam, you hardly know the man."

„I know!" Sam was aware he sounded a little desperate. „And I don´t understand it! It freaks me out, and this whole... and Mr. Hyde thing does! I – this is crazy, Cas! It´s like – being stuck in a freaking movie..."

„A fucking horror movie, yes", Cas murmured. „This childrens´ home guy..."

„Milton."

„Yes...you think you can find out if there have been any...complaints, or reports, of child abuse, violence, cruelty against the kids in the home?"

„I think so...but if there had, he would hardly still be the Head of the institution, wouldn´t he?"

Cas huffed. „In a childrens´ home financed by the city? In a neighborhood where donators wouldn´t even let their dog out of the car? And filled with the unfortunate offspring of the underpriveleged, stranded, or fallen? I wouldn´t be too sure about that."

„But that´s - "

„Wrong on every possible level, yeah. It´s this kind of world we´re living in, Sam."

Cas sounded unusually harsh, and bitter. Sam could hear the years of experience weighing in on him. He let his computer programs do their magic...but nothing popped up on Zachariah Milton, not on the boy, Jesse, either, or the whole institution. He tried a few different combinations of key words, still no hit. „Seems like nothing´s show – wait."

He´d typed in „ Zachariah Milton childrens home death" as a last chance.

A newspaper article appeared on the screen, police reports, an official investigation protocoll.

„Holy shit", Sam murmured. „There has been a death case at the children´s home...in August. One...Jesus." He read the name, and shook his head. „One Anna Milton, 24. Milton´s daughter. She obviously had just started to work at the home as a tutor and teacher." He tried to read through the open pages on his laptop as fast as possible. „There was a short investigation, but it was classified an accident soon. She...fell down the stairs."

„At 24? Was she drunk?"

Sam scanned the reports on his screen. „No. Not at all. She was as healthy as you can be. Well, one can always stumble at the wrong moment."

Cas scratched his chin. Sam looked at him, his black stubble covering the jawline, the cleft. „Or you get stumbled", Cas murmured.

_He felt himself drift away again, and couldn´t stop it, which annoyed him beyond everything. He´d always been able to function perfectly in the past...to make himself function. He had enough rage fuel inside his soul to run on, and enough training and experience to use it wisely. Now...the exhaustion seemed to burn the fuel before he could. And more and more, the pain was seeping through to him, scratching his surface that had been so impervious until now...and again, he found it more annoying than anything else. He didn´t fear pain. He feared weakness. And the pain made parts of him weak, parts he couldn´t control anymore. He watched the snowflakes cover the windscreen, waiting for the dizzyness to pass, unable to raise even his hand. One target. He could do it. He only had to wait._

The crime scene was buzzing with people. Cas hastened to meet Fanelli, the CSI guy, and the officer who´d called...an uneasy feeling had gotten hold of him after what Sam had told him about that Milton guy´s daughter. Maybe Sam was right, and they should check the man out before...before they´d investigate another murder. Sam was behind him, calling Dean´s phone for the umptiest time...he didn´t give up on him, he had to say that about him. Even if he seemed have fallen into some desperate resignation, so different from the excited, eager man he´d been only two days ago, when they were just investigating a case - a case that must in fact be the wet dream/nightmare of every cop or agent - , and not chasing an actual killer...who also happened to be a human being they knew. More than knew, as far as Sam was concerned – if he wanted to give him credit and believe there was actually something behind his „feeling" of connection.

Cas was a pragmatic...always had been.

For him, Sam had been fascinated by the doctor from the start, not only because of his work, the army service, hero status, and last not least the damn maddening looks of the man. It had always also been about his childhood – being an orphan, and not the lucky sort at that. Sam hadn´t been secretive about his own past, having been adopted to the perfect „happily ever after"- version of a family. Cas suspected him of feeling guilty because of that – confronted with the Oliver Twist version Dean had been dealt. Without the Maylies and Mr. Brownlow parts, and no happy ending either.

„Detective!"

He was ripped out of his musings and saw officer O´Brian wave at him from the back of a rather large hall. Again, the body had been found in an office at the back of the house, and the thought passed Cas´ mind how the standardized house plans all the developers used made it so much easier for criminals to prevail...from burglars to murderers. Memorize the plans once – and you´ll find the way to the safe/bathroom/refrigerator/pretty sleeping woman blindfolded.

He waved back and dutifully pulled the plastic bags over his shoes.

„Sam?" He turned, and found the detective right behind him. „There you are...any luck so far?" But the agent shook his head, the frown on his face not leaving.

They followed the officer to the room.

It was a mess.

„The wife...when she found him, she got hysterical, obviously. Especially when she realized it hadn´t been a stroke or some other natural death, but strangulation...and then when she found out about...well."

„The balls", Cas filled in, noticing the officer´s awkward face. He was still young, he´d have to get used to the crazy things human beings were capable of. Good and bad, both ways.

He spotted Fanelli behind the office desk, scratching something off a piece of rug.

The technician looked up, and nodded in acknowledgement.

Cas crouched down at his side.

„So – anything new so far?"

Fanelli put some tiny flakes of dirt into a vial, and bedded it almost lovingly into a stuffed metal box. „It´s different, and it´s similar", he said, shrugging his shoulders. „But if it´s not a copycat, we should definitely have some DNA of our killer on the site here. He was sloppy...and somehow, that´s not what he is, so...I´m a little puzzled."

„He might not have a choice", Cas murmured, looking at the corpse spread on the floor, arms wide, trousers opened, throat ornated with a distinct reddish-blue line. The bulging eyes, staring at the ceiling. Fanelli glanced at him questioningly, but Cas didn´t elaborate.

Tissues were lying on the floor, blood stained. As if someone had ripped them out in a frenzy.

„No tarpaulin this time? No perfect disguise of the...cut?"

The technician shook his head. „No. The tissues obviously were just stuffed into his trousers in a hurry. The wife says she noticed first hand the trousers were bulging, but was ...well, was thinking of something else first. You know, the natural kind of..."

„I get it", Cas growled. „And it wouldn´t even be unusual for victims of strangulation. Maybe she watches cop shows."

Fanelli bent closer. „I think she rather hinted on her husband´s taste in..er... free time online activities. She didn´t say it out loud, but I had the impression she was practically reining herself in at the last moment. You´ll have to ask the officer, O´Brian, He talked to her, I was just listening in."

Cas looked up, to the young officer standing in the hall, talking to Sam actually.

„Interesting...", he mumbled. „Let´s get our wonderboy over here to have a look at the computer."

Sam saw Cas get up, a little heavily, and waited for him to come over.

He tried not to look at the corpse on the floor, the horrified expression on it´s face... the trouser´s wide open fly, exposing the man´s limp penis and...the wound underneath. He hadn´t worked „in the field" like that much, they always wanted him to stay put behind his tech equipment, do the miracles he was famous for...but he´d been strongheaded enough to make them give in to his permanent requests. Much good it had done him. First really bloody case, and his heart and soul were already aching. This mark on the victim´s throat...shouting at him, accusingly...why didnt you find out faster? Save me? A few hours would have been all it took...but you were too busy fucking my killer, and cuddling in bed with him, to be as attentive as you should be, right?

Sam rubbed the free part of his front. His nose pounded.

The pictures of corpses, victims, even the few he had seen „live", had never bothered him as much as his imagination, when in his mind he saw the crimes happen, like a horror movie or a thriller. Now, all he could think of were Dean´s hands, holding the rope or whatever he was using, pulling it tight, tighter, fighting the short struggle the victim sure had put on. The freckles on his hands moving with the movements of his fingers when he cut off the guy´s balls. The fine blond hairs on the back of his hands. Bloody.

„You OK?", Cas asked quietly, and he nodded, yes, in a way, he was OK, he´d accepted the reality of this whole crazy thing; and in another way, he was NOT OK at all.

„Ahem..I talked to officer O´Brian, he was the first to question Mrs. Franzen."

„Where is she, by the way?", Cas asked, looking around as if she´d maybe pop up and stare at her dead husband.

„Ambulance took her with them", O´Brian said. „She had a little..er..breakdown."

His face was carefully guarded.

„Obviously she was laughing hysterically when the ambulance arrived. She was scaring her own kids."

Cas looked up. „What happened to the kids?"

„Neighbors took them with them, and there´s some aunt or uncle expected to come fetch them."

Cas nodded, and turned to Sam. „Would you mind going through the victim´s laptop for a first impression? Fanelli mentionend the wife´s reaction...maybe we can find something, like the last time."

„She was definitely gonna say something about her husband, I guess he was a regular porn viewer and she knew...but... you know." O´Brian shrugged.

Sam went into the room (don´t look at the throat...don´t!), and picked up the laptop from the floor, it had been knocked down obviously. It took him three minutes to find the page, the laptop had been online when – when it happened, no need to give a password. And as always, he was surprised at how sloppy people were with their security when it came to computers and the internet. Well, as FBI agent, he could only be glad about it in a way. On the other hand, it forced him to look at – pages like this one far too often lately.

„Cas? Got it. Same as last time. Kids."

Cas came over, glanced at the screen once, and closed his eyes, rubbing the bridge of his nose. „What is wrong with those people", he murmured. „They got wife and kids of their own, for God´s sake...how can they..."

Fanelli looked up from the body where he was taking samples of practically everything. „Porn again? Like ...wait, we had this teacher in November, at the south side, right? One of the Ball- the serial killer´s vics. They found kid´s porn on his lappy too."

Cas looked at him pensievely. „Yeah, we did...and we cross-referenced it with all the other vics, but it wasn´t enough to see a pattern...now, on the other hand..."

He turned to Sam. „Anything special? Out of the normal?"

Sam huffed. „You mean, besides he was getting off on pictures of 6 year olds posing for perverts like him? No...listen, I really don´t want to look at 2000 of these pics right now, but from a superficial swipe...I can tell they are all between 5 and ...maybe 9 years old, and he preferred girls...last one was focused on boys, right? Most of them white, or black, or in between, and..." He stopped.

„And?" Cas seemed curious.

„Wait, that´s...that´s interesting..." He scrolled down the page, trying not to look at the kids, but at what was behind them. „The background...seems a lot of the pics were taken at the same place. The wall...and then there´s some kind of..cloth..." He enlarged one of the photos, and bent forward, nose almost touching the screen. „Yeah...a concrete wall, you can still see the impression of the wooden logs. And there´s this red velvety kind of...curtain draped on it."

Cas bet down to have a look too. His disgusted face told Sam he didn´t enjoy one bit of this, either. „Freaking bastards...", he murmured under his breath, but watched the few pics Sam chose randomly, enlarged, and kept open on the screen to compare.

„Same background, definitely", he said. „Does that help us somehow? Can we find out where they were taken?"

Sam shrugged. „You never know..it´s worth a try." He enlarged one of the pics to maximum width, chose and cut out a piece of the background and saved it, then mailed it from the vic´s laptop to his own. Then he put it into the FBI´s impressive searching machines´ fangs; and, after a moment of consideration, also on a new site called „neighborhood i-watch", where citizens could follow their obsessions legally by posting, commenting, searching and spying – under certain rules.

„I´ll send someone to the hospital to try talk to Mrs. Franzen. And we should probably check on all the names on the list...I´ll have someone call them."

„Won´t you create a panic, Cas? The serial killer is on the loose, might be he pops in at your place?"

Cas shrugged. „Just willl have to find someone with creativity and brains to make the calls...guess that´s a job for Charlie. I´ll call her."

„Ok...I´ll try to get something on that porno-thing."

„Good luck with that..."

Sam took his own laptop and the victim´s to the kitchen, where actually nobody crawled on the floor, and set up an improvised office. He didn´t find new facts on any of the victims, though; only three had been subscribers of the same website..."Little Fallen Angels". Sam huffed. „Little Broken Angels" would have cut it. Three out of 14...15. And 100% patients of Dean. And all of them connected to kids somehow. Could be the other 12 had been consumers of child porn as well, only much better ad hiding it. Or they consumed it in other ways, not online...the good old video tape, dvds..there were companies specialized in selling/renting out stuff like that. Well disguised of course.

He sighed. How had this changed from an exciting serial killer hunt to the chasing of a ...dark angel of revenge? Had the victims all been culprits – at least by consuming illegal porn, probably even more active, if he considered Dean´s futeless attempts to get child care and social services interested in three of his little patients. Was the killer, from a slightly twisted point of view, truly a hero? Saving kids from abusive fathers, teachers, tutors?

He didn´t allow himself to think that way...because he so desperately wanted to.

_He dreamt. He knew he was dreaming, and he knew he shouldn´t be...but there was still time, he could rest, gather new strength, and then strike..._

_It was the market place, again, and as always, with small modifications...but the dusty ground was just right, the dusty air, the feel of dust everywhere. On his skin (what little was exposed), his hair, the sun glasses, every piece of clothing he wore. The air was heavy with it, the explosion had blown parts of a building and the ground around the Humvees to small particles, reddish and yellow and grey. The wounded on the ground were covered with it as well...a blanket sticky with blood. _

„_Benny! BENNY! Get your ass over here! I need some assistance here!" _

_It was pure chaos...people screaming everywhere, children cowering on the floor, paralyzed, those trying to help overwhelmed by the sheer number of crying, shouting, screaming people on the ground, or hanging in the shattered remains of the stands. Dean had a soldier in front of him, one of their own, by chance; you couldn´t even tell from afar, everyone looked equal with all this dust on them, and the red fog in the air._

_Benny heard him, saw him wave nevertheless, he waved back, fixed a bandage around some woman´s arm, and gathered his things together to help Dean. And even knowing he would be near, be at his side, share some of the horror, and carry part of the weight...it immediately made him feel so much calmer...he saw Benny get up, and start running towards him, and Dean already smiled, despite the mayhem around them...he would never get tired of seeing Benny come to him, his sturdy body moving so unexpectedly elegant...there was a boy. Small, maybe four, five years old, with shaggy hair, he stood there in the middle of hell, each time, and just looked at him...looked...Dean wanted to warn him to get out of the way, Benny was running, but nothing came out of Dean´s mouth, nothing but a whimpering sound, and he knew he was crying..._

_And then there was a new sound added to the already kakophonic symphony, the sharp noise of machine guns, and Dean wondered where it came from, not even reacting to it...and another explosion ripped the air, and Dean saw Benny vanish before the sound waves hit his ears, one moment he was running, the next he was gone, nothing but another load of smoke and dust and pieces of...whatever, raining down on him. There was a shrill ringing noise in his ears, but it didn´t matter, because he had to attend to the wounded, hadn´t he, and looking down he saw the soldier on the ground was dead, hit by something in the chest, so he moved to the next body, and stilled blood, tied dangling limbs, applied bandages, gave injections, cleaned burns..._

_...until he noticed it was his own blood dripping down on a man whose broken arm he tried to fix in a kind of provisorial bandage and sling so he could get up or be brought to the hospital; he saw the man talking, gesturing, but there was nothing but the ringing in his ears, it filled his whole body, there was no room left, not even for thoughts, and so he passed out with his mind blown as empty as his heart, and as always, the little boy was standing there again, in the middle of hell, looking at him._

Cas stood outside the house, pressing the cellphone to his ear...he had been talking to different members of his team, had re-collected those who´d been assigned other tasks only this morning...had called the pathologist and told her a new one would be coming in, and that they´d need a clarification ASAP (the copycat thing still was stuck somewhere at the back of his head...). Charlie was already calling possible victims, and he´d sent two cars on the way to circle the areas where Sam had thought it most likely Dean would hit again...and one to the childrens´ home. They´d all report to him regularly, and after the rush of organizing all of it, he leant against the banisters of the houses´porch, feeling drained. Where had Dean gone? He was not at home, a stake out team was already positioned at his house, and there had been no movement at all...

„Dammit Dean, what are you up to...how can you even drive around in your state..." He realized he was murmuring to himself like some nutcase, and didn´t care.

Snowflakes were hanging in the air, a little hesitant, as if the they found the earth they were supposed to cover lacking in preparation...Cas shivered. His coat wasn´t exactly winter garment..he´d have to get used to wearing a woollen sweater underneath, and bring a scarf.

He went back inside and right to the kitchen, where Sam sat with two laptops opened on the table, obviously unnerved, shoving his hands through his long hair.

He stopped behind him, laying his hands on the broad shoulders, and bent forward.

„You OK?"

Sam leant his head back against Cas´ chest – even sitting on a chair, he was tall – and closed his eyes. Cas looked down on the bandaged face, the dark bluish patches that crept out under them. „I don´t know any more", Sam finally answered, and it sounded honest.

„I know", Cas said. „It´s a nightmare."

Sam sighed. „And I can´t find anything else on the porn thing. There was only one detail...I looked into the reports form Anna Milton´s death once more. Seems she called Dean one day before she...fell. But he was in surgery operating at the time, and her number had never shown up on his phone before...he was questioned, but nothing came out of it. She was still at university when he´d operated that little boy...Jesse. They were sure he hadn´t known, or even met her."

Cas frowned. „But why did she call him? Did she leave a message?"

„Yeah..it said..something like..ah, here´s the transcript. „This is Anna Milton, Zachariah Milton´s daughter. I´m working at the childrens´ home now, and I would like to talk to you. Please call me back under..." ..and Dean obviously called her back, but she was already dead then."

„So she wants to tell a doctor she never met something important. The next day, before they can meet/talk, she´d dead. ACCIDENTALLY." Cas rubbed his stubbly chin. It made a rasping sound.

„Sounds definitely weird. And maybe worth looking into."

„I don´t think we´ll find anything...nothing useful, at least."

Cas rubbed Sam´s shoulders. „You´re really down, huh...Listen, you´ve had a pretty rough day, why don´t you..."

„No." Cas had expected it.

„So, what now?" Sam sounded tired.

„I´ve set in motion everything here...the technicians will be working for some time. We- "

„Detective? They´re here to fetch the body." O´Brian stood in the doorway, a faint smile on his face.

„Ah, good." Cas followed him into the hall, and watched the man pack the body into a black bodybag and roll the cot out to the van. He knew the pathologist, maybe she´d give them a first opinion...dammit, Fanelli and his copycat-theorie.

He went back to Sam. „What say we have a look at that childrens´ home and stop by the pathologist afterwards to give us a quick assessment", he asked. „The mortuary is in the same part of town."

„ Sure!. But..she´d do that? Usually they are - "

„Yeah, she´s too, but if I ask her nicely...she´ll give us something. Inofficially of course."

Sam closed the windows on the laptops, and got up. „I´ll bring that back to Fanelli."

They said good bye to the technician, who smiled at them stoically, and left the house.

„It´s snowing!", Sam exclaimed, surprised.

„It´s fucking cold", Cas replied.

„First snow...", Sam murmured, a smile on his face, waiting for a tiny flake to melt on his palm. Cas had to smile too. „You like snow? Winter?"

Sam looked up. „Yes, of course. It´s...clean, and...pure. Winter takes away all the frippery and the disguise, and...leaves everything simpler. Reduced to what it really is." He drew a finger through the thin layer of snow on Cas´ car. „It´s kinda like a new start...a new chance. Loose the crap, start from scratch."

„Wow", Cas said. „That´s...worth consideration, I think. And here I was, hating the cold and the wind and wet feet and slippery roads...I loved the snow as a kid, though. Couldn´t get enough of it..."

Sam smiled. „You can learn to love it again. That´s what my Mom says. Sometimes we lose our appreciation for things, or...people. And we think it´s lost forever, but...we can learn to look at them anew, and then we can maybe find it again."

„Sounds like a smart woman."

„She is..." Sam smiled, at something only he could see.

They drove down towards the city again, not far though. Cas glanced over at Sam, who stared out of the passenger window, obviously far away with his thoughts. Cas thought of their earlier ride, with Dean in the back seat, glancing at the passing buildings. He wondered what the doctor really saw.

„Sam?"

„u-huh."

„Do you have any memories of your time at the orphanage?"

Sam looked over, a little surprised maybe, Cas couldn´t tell in the dark.

He considered the question for a moment. „Not...not really", he admitted. „I know I was almost five when my parents got me, and there should probably be something, but...all I remember is a few blurry pictures...a garden, with two swings. And a very long staircase. I rememeber that. It was HUGE."

Cas smiled. „It was huge because you were small", he said.

„Probably", Sam said. „It´s funny, but I never...you know, whenever I think of the time before I got my family...I don´t like to."

Cas frowned. „Well, you´d expect that, wouldn´t you? It sure wasnt the best time of your life there."

Sam shook his head. „No, that´s not it. I mean – it is, but – there´s something else. When I think of that time in general, there´s always...it hurts. Like I´m missing something."

„Missing the orphanage?"

Sam raised his hands a little and let them fall down again. „Not the orphanage...I dunno. I know it sounds crazy."

Cas glanced at him. „Maybe you had friends there or something."

Sam shrugged. „Maybe...I honestly dont remember."

They drove the rest in silence, both with enough things on their mind.

„How can a childrens´ home be ...here?", Sam piped up when they started passing the worn down apartment buildings, closed companies, unkempt streets.

„Money", Cas replied. „It´s cheap. That´s all that - "

His phone rang again. „Jeez, sometimes I hate that thing", he murmured.

„Novak?"

Reception was awful, so Cas pulled to the kerb.

When the speaker kept giving crackling sounds and swallowing half of the words, he sighed, put the phone to his ear, and got out of the car, throwing Sam an apologetic glance. Sam nodded, and climbed out into the cold, too.

„Come again?"

Sam watched Cas frown, and roll his eyes. „Yes, I am THAT Novak. Why do you ask."

He listened, and Sam saw his face change expressions rapidly.

„What? And that´s...ah. ...I see...OK...Yes...No, I´m practically as far from your part of town as I could possibly be...Ok. ...Yes. You do that. ...Yes. Tell her it´s urgent, and don´t let her rip your head of for it...yes, she does that. Tell her I said that. ...You´ll call me then OK? ...Yes...OK. see ya."

He stared at his phone for a moment. „They found another body", he said, frowning.

Sam stepped closer. „What? Where?"

„Well, it´s...on the south end of town, in the new housing areas...but it´s.."

Sam watched him, and was surprised to se the same mixture of feelings pass over Cas´ face he´d experienced quite a few times that day already. Resignation, hope, worry, guilt.

„Cas?"

Cas looked up. „It might be a different killer. It was ...different. The man was stabbed outside his house, and...his balls and penis have been cut off. And left at the site."

„Jeez...but – they were left there? That´s..."

„I know."

„What´s the victim´s name?"

Cas frowned. „Er...Monroe."

Sam was at the car and had the laptop open on the passenger seat within a moment.

„Wait...let´s see...Monroe?"

„Yes." Sam shivered. Cas´ voice was a dark growl. Sam could tell he was ...pissed, somehow. A himself, most likely, for not being able to stop the killings from happening. For being too late.

„Hmm...no Monroe here on my list."

„You sure?" Relief had crept into the detective´s voice, the same relief Sam felt.

„Wait, I´ll look into the extended list..." He opened another window, typed in the name...hoped... „No. Nothing."

He heard Cas´ relieved sigh. „Thank God."

„The man´s still dead and...well."

„I know...but it´s.."

Sam huffed. „He didn´t die on our watch, right?"

He saw Cas shrug. He looked a little self conscious.

Sam knew he was blushing when he said, „I know it´s wrong, but - I feel the same."

„We´re some couple, huh", Cas said, half a laugh and a huff.

Sam closed his laptop. „Guess we are." And wondered how the word „couple" could make him feel so weirdly excited and comforted at the same time.

_He woke from the dream with a start. Felt his shirt stick to his body, drenched in sweat, and shivered in the cold, couldn´t stop his hands from shaking, his teeth from clattering. The windows were misted over, and when he wiped a small spot clean, he saw the screen was covered in snow already. He knew he had to get out of the car, into the house, before he fell asleep again, and he couldn´t guarantee to stay awake anymore...no matter how he hated to see his control slip. It was useless denying the obvious...you had to accept it, and adapt. Which meant, in this case, he would have to go for the target the less risky way._

_With a grunt, he straightened up, and stifled a moan when a sharp pain stabbed his side. Be damned, Frank Monroe, worst of part-time father-step ins. May you rot in hell where you belong..._

_He opened the door, and climbed out, painfully slow like an old man, went over to the passenger side, and took out the duffle bag. He slung it over his head, wincing, and walked towards the almost dark house, carefully using the shadows as a disguise, pausing every few meters, leaning against the wall that surrounded the yard._

_He´d chosen his parking spot wisely, hidden at the back of the building in the shadows...it gave him easy access to the windows leading to the cellar, the two back doors, and a storage room that should have a direct connection to the main building... practically any number of entrance points. He knew everything would be locked up so nobody could get in – or out. He´d watched Milton´s employee make his round, check the doors a few times over the past months. _

_Finally, he´d reached the building´s corner, deep in the shadows; the only lit window cast its light over the yard, a yellowish rectangle on the fresh snow, illuminating the snowflakes in its beam...an ethereal sculpture made of light and transient crystals floating in the dark. He watched it for a moment, taking shallow breaths, gathering his strength. He felt much better now, moving and breathing in the cold night air had been good. He put down the duffle bag, crouched down, and started to get out his tools. He´d go in through one of the cellar windows; they were from the sixties, which meant easy to crack open, whileas the doors had been renewed, and were probably visible from a few spots – not that anyone would go to the difficulty of sitting in one of the surrounding buildings and watch the back entrance of a childrens´ home in the middle of the night just for fun. But he was careful._

_He put the knife in the holster, shoved the gun into the belt of his jeans. It was weird not to wear the protective jumpsuit when on a hunt, but he´d decided it didn´t matter any more, and he felt far less restricted in his mobility without it. After a moment of consideration, he packed the rope into one of his jacket´s pockets, too. Maybe he got the chance._

_He got up to crack open the window with the crowbar, and felt a wave of dizzyness and nausea wash over him. He staggered, blinded, without any orientation for a moment, until he collided with something seemingly solid; but when he grabbed for it, it slipped, and he fell together with it. A loud clatter and banging told him it must have been a metal trash can, or more of them; he thumped down on the wet concrete hard, knocking his head on something, his vision whitening out for a moment when his broken rib collided with the ground._

„Cas?"

„Hmm". Cas held his hands over the car heating´s ventilation. Temperature had dropped some more, obviously, if a few minutes outside could make him feel like a frozen turkey.

„When all this is over..."

He looked at Sam then, saw him fidgeting with his hands in his laps.

„Yes?"

„About what you said about..us being a couple...did you mean it?"

Cas smiled. He could practically feel Sam´s awkwardness. How did this never stop being awkward?

„Would you want it? Give it a try?"

Sam looked over then, and Cas could see his cheeks were flushed – if from the cold or the blush, who knew.

„Yes. Would you?" Cas appreciated the younger man´s direct approach. He might feel embarrassed, but he didn´t let that hold him back.

„Let me see...you´re asking me if I would be inclined to date a man who is smart like hell, has the body of a Greek god, and generously gave me the best sex of my life so far. Did I forget something? Ah. He loves tea, which is probably the most important fact of all if we´re looking for compatibility."

„Cas..." Sam sounded half amused, half desperate.

„Yes. It´s a yes, Sam. Lets´give it a try. You know. Without.. er...obligations."

Sam´s smile was the best he´d seen in many months, even if the bandages dampened the effect a little.

„We´ll see about the obligations", he said, his smile turning into a grin, his dimples so damn cute Cas could have kissed him right away.

„_You think there is something like Heaven?"_

_Benny´s eyes, lazily wandering over his face. „You aren´t planning on dying, are you?"_

„_No...but we´re in the middle of a damn war zone, people die every day. I just wondered."_

_Benny laughed. „Well, as there is a Hell, and it´s right here in this fucking place, I guess there´s something like Heaven, too."_

_He remembered staring into the blue-grey sky, the naked landscape, stones and pebbles and dust. Moon on earth._

„_Wherever that Heaven is, I hope it has a lot of water. Lakes. Rivers. Waterfalls. And woods. Tall trees, and meadows full of that soft grass, you know, like down at the lake_

_at Sonny´s ..."_

_He felt Benny´s eyes on him. „Youre in a weird mood."_

_He rubbed his eyes, the damn dust ever scratching despite the sun glasses._

„_I dunno...guess it´s this landscape."_

„_Landscape? Heck, this is worse then Tatooine."_

„_Tatooine at war, yes."_

„_And without the cool races."_

„_Exactly. They should definitely have them here. Would make up for the damn wind and dust."_

_Benny huffed. „I know what´s wrong with you. You´re homesick."_

_He stayed silent for a few minutes. „Maybe", he finally said._

„_Three months, buddy. Then we´re outta here."_

„_I know..."_

„_And you know what? First thing we´ll jump into our lake, man. I´m dreaming of this damn cold water since last year. Imagine...the cliff...and then diving in deep...the feeling when the water swallowes you..."_

_He smiled. „I imagine in your dream, we are naked?"_

„_What else!" Benny grinned. „Did we ever need clothes there?"_

_He smiled back. Three months. He could do that. Benny stroked his cheek with his rough thumb, followed the line of his lower lip. _

„_Three months, Dean."_

_NO._

_He had to stop this dream, now, because this wasn´t his dream, it belonged to someone else, not even a dream, a memory, of a person who didn´t exist anymore..like the pain and the dizzyness...if those memories seeped into him, he wouldn´t be able to...finish..._

_He had to get up. Get out of this half-conscious state where he couldn´t tell if he was dreaming or awake. Wasn´t even sure who he was anymore._

_He needed to be himself one more time. The Hunter. He needed The Hunter. He WAS The Hunter._

_He grabbed for the rough wall, and pulled himself up a little, so he could turn and sit, back against the concrete. Everything was spinning around him, but it receded, slowly, and the nausea went back to normal...no, it wasn´t normal, The Hunter didn´t feel nauseous, right, that was..._

_He realized the bright spots on the yard had doubled. Someone had switched on the light in another room._

_Then more light fell through the glass of the back door nearer to him._

_He pushed himself up the wall, stabilizing his footing. _

_Someone was coming down the stairs, he saw the moving shadow on the fresh snow when the person bent down to open the door with a key._

_He pulled out the gun, released the safety catch, and waited._

They drove down the last streets in amiable silence, and Sam was still wondering what had gotten into him just asking Cas like that...maybe, in all the drama around them, he´d needed some ounce of assurance and safety. And something to look forward to for...afterwards.

Cas pulled over behind the stake-out car, and climbed out with a grimace. Sam watched him rap at the window, and change a few words with the officers inside; he looked at his watch, nodded, and came back, rubbing his hands. Sam automatically stretched out his own, as he´d always done for his Mom, and Cas, seeing it, smiled and let him take them. „So, we´re already at the romantic gesture stuff. Guess it becomes hairy now."

Sam laughed. „A romantic date in the cold car watching a possbile victim in the flickering light of decrepit streetlamps. What´s there not to love."

But he squeezed Cas´ hands, and tried to read his face with his one good eye. He seemed happy enough.

„I told the officers they could go have a coffee for half an hour. They are freezing their asses off."

Sure, the car in front of them pulled off, and drove back to the more inhabited parts of town. Sam watched the dark building with the sign above the entrance door. It was a plain, functional, cheap building, simply ugly, sure OK for a company, nor OK at all for a childrens´ home – the area alone was giving Sam the creeps.

„Let´s check it out", he said, cause he started to feel restless.

„What - with that cold?"

„Come on, Cas, just a round. It´s not THAT cold."

Cas gave him a sour glance, but sighed and opened his door.

„Well then, let´s get it behind us."

Sam had just silently shut the car´s door, when a loud clatter was coming from somewhere down the street. He looked at Cas, who´d stopped arranging his coat´s collar

so that it covered as much of his throat as possible.

„Crap", he said quietly. „Did you hear that?"

Sam nodded. „Could be a cat."

Cas shot him a glance. „Could be, yes. We´ll find out."

Sam knew they would. One way or another.

_A man emerged from the house, tall, but with the body of someone who was used to pass his days behind a desk. When he´d first seen him, he´d have taken him for the CEO of a big company, he had it all, the arrogant attitude, the expensive suit, the condescending tones. He was pretty surprised to find out the man was the head of some third-class public childrens´ home in the crappiest part of town. His instincts immediately screamed alert, and the kid he had come with only consolidated his suspicions...the boy showed all the signs, the little flinches, the downcast eyes, the absolute stillness whenever the man touched him. The small scars, almost invisible if you didn´t look for them. Of course, all those things were only visible to a hunter. To him. He knew no one would believe him, or be able to prove him right. So he put the man...the monster on his list. On the top place, reserved for the alpha monster, because that was what he was: he poisened others with his venom, took their light away, and turned them into something dark and twisted. _

_And now he was running directly in his hunter´s arms._

„_Hello?"_

_Oh, so he´d probably heard the noise. Good. He wouldn´t have made it through the window, anyway, the way his legs were shaking. He tried to calm his breathing, focus on his target. He thought of the eyes, a cool blue without depth, piercing. The coldest smile he´d seen since...back then. He thought of their eyes, all of them...the pleasure in them when they could play their cruel games. But he wasn´t a small kid anymore, he was The Hunter, and he had taken the light from their cruel eyes and turned their cold smiles to silent masks of horror._

„_Hello! HELLO! Who´s there! Mikey, if that´s you again, I swear to God, I will give you a punishment you´ll not forget for your lifetime! Don´t make me look for you!""_

_Can you take the pain boy can you take it say it boy come on say it can you can you take it you´ve been a bad boy again so I´ll punish you can you take it can you take the pain say it!_

_He shook his head to drive away the voices, he had to stay clear, his target was walking right towards him, and seeing it, the self-rightous smirk, the pleasure of a coming punishment already written on his face...he felt a wave of new strength wash over him, and he waited only long enough to have the target right in front of him, and stepped out of the shadows. The gun´s pearly handle was warm and reassuringly heavy in his hands, and they weren´t shaking any more. He was calm. Finally, he was there._

„_What the hell, Mikey! How did you get out this time! I swear - ". The monster stopped, staring at him, the gun, him again. _

„_Who – What – do I know you? What – the gun, what – What are you doing here!"_

_The cold cruelty, turned into fear with the flick of a finger. Gone were arrogance and condescence._

„_Please, don´t . Don´t shoot. Please! I don´t have money with me, you can take my watch, but – please! Please, don´t shoot!"_

_He stepped closer, raised the gun just so that it pointed right into the monster´s face. _

„_You don´t remember me, do you? But I remember you, Mr. Milton, and the boy you came to the hospital with, Jesse, do you even remember his name? Or was he just a toy for you, to play with and throw away?"_

_He realized he was starting to shake again, he had to stop it, he needed his strength. The anger was growing hot and flared through him, oh, how he´d waited to release it, finally, to get it out of his system in one big strike..._

„_Is – are - doctor - doctor? Is that you? What – heaven. What is – no, no, please, no! Please, don´t shoot, I beg you!"_

_The incredulity, already mixed with condescence again, a hint only, but he could sense it...he had become good at that. The hint was gone the moment he grabbed the monster_ by _its collar and pressed the gun´s mouth against his cheek. The begging turned into a terrified whimper._

„_Can you feel the nuzzle, monster? It´s the last thing you will feel in this life, and I hope there is a Hell, because that´s where you will be going." He knew the whispering made the monster freak out, could feel it in the tension of the muscles. He pressed the gun deeper into the face, to make an impression, literally, and to steady his hand that trembled more and more. The monster´s face swam in front of him, a blurred patch in the dark, lit by the light streaming from the windows. He could rather feel, then see, the monster was going to scream for help, and he tightened the grip around its neck and collar, and whispered in its ear, „Not a sound. You hear me? You make one sound, and I´ll make it slow and painful."_

_The monster seemed to shrink, shrivel, and the sharp smell of its sweat filled the cold air._

_He had his lips on the monster´s ears, his whisper a dark growl._

„_I know what you did to that kid, monster, but I couldn´t prove it, see? So I´m the one to bring revenge, I´m going to kill you, because you don´t deserve to live, you failed those in your care, and there´s no apology for that. No amendment..no redemption. I´m sure Jesse wasn´ t the only one, am I right? So- "_

_The monster made a sudden motion in his grip, eyes wide, and the pain that shot through his side and head almost made him pull the trigger. He staggered against his target, making them both sway back and forth, and-_

„FREEZE!"

Cas had his gun out within a second, and aimed at the two men in the yard. They´d barely passed the building´s corner when they heard the low voices behind the wall that surrouned the wall, and started to run to find the entrance. It was open, thank God, and he and Sam both squeezed through it at the same time, and what Cas saw made his insides go cold, because there was Dean, in a t-shirt and thin jacket only, grabbing someone, a tall, heavy-built man, and he pressed a gun to the man´s cheek.

„FREEZE! POLICE! Drop the gun!"

The two men swayed back and forth, a creepily morbid dance, zombies in the black and white world of the snow covered yard.

He saw Sam in the corner of his eye, sneaking along the wall in the dark shadow, to come closer to them from a different side; he had his gun out, too, although he´d been more hesitant to pull it.

Cas saw the wide open eyes of the other man, Milton, probably, hopefully (Cas didn´t even feel ashamed for thinking it), and Dean´s face – a mask, white like a skull, deep shadows under his eyes, hard and so full of cold rage it made Cas flinch. Was this what he´d looked like when he hit Sam?

„Dean, drop the gun. Dr. Winchester, can you hear me? I am Detective Novak, Castiel. Cas! We talked in the pub the other night. Do you remember? Please, drop the gun now."

He had closed in quite a bit, and Dean, who obviously hadn´t even heard him before, now seemed to register someone was talking to him, cause he gripped Milton´s collar and used the momentum of their swaying to turn his victim around. He was now behind Milton, still holding the gun to his cheek, but Cas could tell he was barely able to do so...he saw how his legs stumbled and lost balance, until he regained his equilibrium again. Milton stared at Cas, the gun, terrified to move too much ...and Dean...his eyes were dark, almost black in the dark, and Cas pointed his flashlight at him...they stayed black, Dean´s face contracted with pain, but the eyes didn´t change, they were dark holes, soulless, blackened windows, and how could that be? He lowered the beam of light, afraid Dean could pull the trigger in his obvious pain. He saw Sam slowly walk out of the shadow, and close in on the staggering couple alongside the building´s wall.

Talk. In a hostage situation, talk. That´s what they´d been told, and it had been proved useful in his experience, too.

„Dean."

Dean´s eyes flickered, and did he see a glimpse of green again? For a moment, Dean closed his eyes, his jaw tightened, and it almost looked as if he leant against Milton for support.

Milton looked as if he either would swoon any moment or do something stupid, an both possibilities were dangerous, considering he had a gun pressed to his face.

„Dean. You know me. You don´t want to do this. I´m Cas, remember? Look at me. Dean! Let´s talk about this. I know you want to bring justice by killing him, I understand. This man failed someone, and so did the others. But there are better ways to bring justice. "

He improvised a little, going along the lines of what they had already found out, and the suspicions he had about Dean´s victims.

But he´d lost him again, he saw it in the way the face turned back into a torn mask; he seemed to have regained some strength, too, and Jesus, how should they ever get through to him when he was...not Dean? Dean gripped Milton tighter, and slowly made a few steps backwards, pulling the man with him, turning a little to the right so Milton was exactly between him and Cas´ gun.

That was when he noticed Sam.

..._he sensed a change in Milton´s body, and couldn´t place it. Something was wrong with his ears, it was as if heavy rain was falling inside his head...a steady pour down, like _the summer rains at Sonny´s, after the hottest days, when clouds had been billowing on the horizon for hours, growing and darkening and finally filling the whole sky...the first drops, and then, almost out of nowhere, a curtain of water pouring down, and it was pure bliss – _no, not the memories, he couldn´t let them in now, he was so close, he was the Hunter, he didn´t have memories beyond pain and grief and anger. He felt his body shake again, it wasn´t supposed to fail him like that, he could tell it wouldn´t be efficient for much longer..he had to get this over with, so his could tick the last name off his list..._

„_Dean, drop the gun.."_

_Someone was here with them, there was a voice seeping through the rain. He knew the voice...the voice was behind him, it was no good, he had his back exposed, how had he not heard the voice come so close? It was the rain, never ending, a waterfall _and then they just ran outside, pulling their clothes off, until they stood in the downpour in their underpants, all the boys screaching and squeeing and then someone always started to throw the red mud the yard had turned into, it was Benny, of course it was Benny, and

_He had to shut out the rain, the images, the scent of wet hair and mud on sweaty skin. Not his. The memories were not his. _

_Light stabbed into his eyes, and he barely suppressed a srceam. It was pure pain, white and hot, he was blind, gripping what he already had in his hands tighter...and then the pain was gone, but he couldn´t see..._

„_Dean. You know me. You don´t want to do this, I´m Cas, remember?..."_

_And the anger was back. The rage. He wanted to do this, why did the voice tell him otherwise? He was The Hunter. There were no better ways. The voice was dangerous, it brought the memories to the surface _he knew the voice, Cas, it was Cas, the detective, they had been to the pub, he remembered now, but _he closed the armor, by sheer will, he could do this one more time, and not even the voice was going to get the armor down. He had to get away from the voice, the man who pointed a gun at him, he didn´t mind being shot...but he had to bring this to an end first. This was the most important target of all, he would not give in before- _

_There was somone else in the yard, far too close, a tall man, the – the agent, he knew the agent, they...they had been in the house together where he sometimes woke up, he had thrown something at him, he remembered that, and yes, the agent had bandages on his face, it looked sad, the face, sad, and worried, desperate, and he looked directly at him, the rain in his head was still loud, falling and falling, he saw the agent´s lips move, what did he say? Why did they all talk? He didn´t want to talk, he just wanted to-_

„_Dean. Dean, I´m Sam. Remember? I was at your house, and we...you made breakfast for me, rememeber? Eggs, you made eggs and coffee and we - "_

...they sat in his kitchen, he remembered the scent of the eggs and of Sam, his warm skin and the cologne that still hung in his shirt, there was this feeling inside him all of a sudden, calm and...pleasant, he remembered that, but then _they´d been in the garage, and the rage had come back, he didn´t want to talk anymore, they always talked, and talked, he wanted them to shut up, and he had made him. _

„_Dean. Come on, Dean, it´s me, Sam, we were in your bed, you were so cold, remember? I kept you warm. Please, put down the gun, I put down mine, see? I´m not aiming at you. Let´s just – talk, or just be quiet, OK? Be quiet and think about it."_

_Silence...yes, silence would be good, not the voices, not the rain, and not the pounding hammer that slowly woke up again inside his head, he knew how it would become louder and stronger with every blow, bolts were raging through him, and he had to grab the gun tighter, press it against the face deeper, to stabilize his hands and body, _he heard the voice, and he remembered it now, Sam, it was Sam standing in front of him, arms down, he looked so sad, why was he so sad? He couldn´t hear him talk clearly, everything was blurred, the sounds, and the vision, but he breathed it down, like they´d told him, breathe, breathe it into a place where you can handle it _can you take the pain boy, can you, tell me you can take it _Sam was closer now, he reached out with his hand, and it would be good to take it, feel the warmth, he was freezing, he realized, shaking, and why was he holding someone, gripping that man, he looked familiar _he had to do it now, he felt everything slip, the agent had broken his armor, and his strength had gone, evaporated, the pain was starting to fill him whole, sending shocks through his head, he would not let this chance go, it was the only one, time, he was running out of time, and _so cold, he felt so cold, even the pain felt cold, like knives taken from a freezer, but who would put knives into a freezer? Sam´s face was there, close, he could see the bandages, he remembered he´d done that to him, but not doing it, everything was so blurred, and now he could hear Sam´s voice through the rain´s pour down, he had to grip the man he was holding tighter, and maybe he wasn´t holding him, but it was the other way round, the man was holding him upright so he could see Sam, listen to his words although he couldn´t understand them , but the voice was good, and soothing, and he..

"...down the gun. Dean, please, put down the gun. I´m Sam, I wont hurt you, Sam, remember? Put down the gun, please. Dean."

The gun, he had a gun, he hadn´t noticed, it was pressed against the the man´s cheek, he looked familiar, hed´seen him..hospital...something about him made him angry, but..._no, NO! Don´t listen, the voices are false, they are lying, the want to lure you away, make you stop, he didn´t want to stop, this one shot, he tried, but his hand was shaking so badly, and he wanted to pull the trigger, but his finger wouldn´t react, there was nothing, he sensed Milton tense with fear, and tried again, nothing, both his hands were like frozen,_

Sam. Sam wanted him to put the gun down, and he didnt understand, but he trusted him...he didnt know why, he looked into his eyes, and he trusted him, he knew Sam, he was like the little boy in his dreams, the shaggy hair, the sad, serious eyes, and he just looked, he´d stopped talking, he looked, sad, but calm, Dean didnt want him to vanish like the boy, the boy he had lost, and he told his arm to move, it didnt want to, twitched, and shook, but he tried again, still looking at Sam, and finally his muscles would move, and Dean put the gun down.

Cas watched Sam approach Dean and Milton like a farmer would near a frightened animal...small slow steps, no sudden movements...and he was talking, his voice calm, full of warmth, and he wondered if it was good training and acting or the real thing...he was talking to Dean, after all...who was somewhere inside there.

His gun aimed at the strange couple in front of him, he could see the changes in Dean´s face, and it was creeping him out, how the eyes shifted from those dark, glazed over holes to the warm green lakes full of confusion, his lips presses together tightly or slightly parted in wonder...and in between, there was always the pain washing over the face, visible in the tightened jaw, the flickering of the eyes, cramping hands. Cas remembered Dr. Mill´s words, How is he even walking? How is he still holding Milton in his grip, and aiming a gun...and he wondered if he would just pass out here maybe, in the middle of the yard.

Sam still talked, across Milton´s scared face, right to Dean, he fixated him with his eyes, and man, there had to be some spell in his gaze, because he could see Dean react to it, the eyes turning softer, brighter, always with this wonder in them, and he couldnt believe it when he saw the expression on his face, a child fully listening to someone, and trusting them...

„Dean, put the gun down. Please."

The slight frown crossing Dean´s face, and then Cas noticed the tremor in Dean´s hands, the shaking of his arms, it seemed like he couldn´t control them right now, and Jesus what if his fingers just ...and then, with a visible effort, his arm moved,

his eyes on Sam all the time, and as if in slow motion, he put his gun away from Milton´s face...and down.

And just when Cas wanted to start breathing again, because now he realized he had kept his breath all the time, Milton, that idiot of idiots, felt like he was in the better position now, and instead of waiting, tried to escape the grip of Dean´s other hand, turning to face him, and before Cas could even shout at him, he had raised his hands to shove the stumbling Dean back...and Cas saw the rage flicker over Dean´s face again, and the next moment, he had his gun aimed at Milton again, who was suddenly frozen, and Sam was there, what did he do, he went right for Milton and tried to get in between him and Dean, but Cas cold see Dean´s hand was already moving, pulling the trigger, and then a deafening bang filled the yard, his ears, everything, he felt the recoil ripple through his arms, and he saw Dean be ripped off his feet and fall, Sam´s horrified face turning to him in slow motion, Milton staggering backwards and covering his ears, all at the same time, and then the fresh snow scattered when Dean´s body hit the ground, dusting the air with sparkling crystals, beautiful, it was beautiful, dancing back down on Dean´s body, powdering him with a layer of silvery glitter.

He only realized his hearing had been gone when sound started to come back, muted and blurred at first, but it became clearer, he could hear Sam´s voice, Sam who was talking to Dean, was bent over him, kneeling in the snow. Cas finally was able to move again, and he went closer, gun still half raised...

„Shoot him! Shoot this nutcase! He´s mad! Completely mad! A monster! Somebody shoot this monster already! SHOOT!"

Cas turned to Milton, who stood a few feet away, gesturing wildly, his face a mixture of panicky fear, out-of-place arrogance, and hate, and when he opened his mouth again to shout at Cas, he just raised his arm, and punched him right in his face, knocking him out.

Sam felt the shot pass before he heard it, a tiny draft grazing him, and then the bang blew out every other sound, leaving a ringing noise in his ears. He saw Dean jerk, and fall, swept from his feet, and turned back , seeing Cas there, his gun raised, and he didnt understand, but the sound of Dean´s body hitting the ground let him spin around again, he saw the dusty snow spray the air around him and dance down again. No. This was not how it was supposed to be. No! He´d put down the gun, he stopped it, he snapped out of that...other person, he´d been Dean again! If only that dumbass Milton hadn´t...he had him. He´d seen it in his eyes, those child´s eyes again, huge and bright and trusting...wondering...

He was on his knees at Dean´s side, in the snow, grabbing his shoulder.

„Dean. Dean!"

The eyes looked for him, and found him, bound to his by a spell, he wondered why he could suddenly see the green in them so well, it had gotten brighter around them, only later would he find out the lights had gone on in the building, casting their beams of light over the yard, illuminating the snow, turning the world into the background to a glittery fairy tale...

Green eyes, mossy green, and full of confusion, a question in them. Dean´s lips moved, quivered, and Sam bent down, took the face into his hands, felt the cold, saw the blue lips, he must have been freezing in his thin clothes, would probably have frozen to death out here had Cas not...

Death. He saw it creep over Dean´s face, a calmness that took away the signs of pain, swept his torn face clear of guilt, and shame, and grief, and left a boy´s face, full of curiosity what life would throw his way, and Sam held his gaze, looked into those green wondering eyes, spellbound even when Dean´s body had already gone still, and there was still a brightness in them...

And then the spark was gone, and the spell was broken.

AFTER

Later, after all the chaos in the yard, the kids at the windows, police and ambulancemen and tutors of the childrens´ home everywhere, and, of course, the media...later, they were both questioned the first time of many more, by Cas´ colleagues, the FBI, a member of the military police who would have been on the new task force, in the end, even IA...and Sam didn´t even remember how he got away from them the morning...after. They probably told him to get a few hours of sleep, seeing as he was barely able to keep his eyes open from the exhaustion any more...and he walked out of the department into the snow, he couldn´t remember where he´d left his car, so he called a cab, and gave an adress, and didnt even wonder when the driver woke him from his sleep in front of Dean´s house.

The key was still in his pocket, he´d forgotten about it...and he went into the house he´d been cleaning...not even a day ago, so that Dean wouldn´t come home to a bloodstained home. He had been home, Sam saw the little changes, the blanket on the couch, the pulled out chair in the kitchen, the empty pages and ballpoint pen on the table.

He wandered the rooms, looking for something he didn´t find, it was a special emptiness that filled the house...the absence of something that had never been taken for granted and was missed nevertheless.

He noticed the envelope immediately, the new pile of fotos on the shelf. He turned them...the bearded man again, smiling at the camera in a close-up, in military gear, his eyes seemed to be laughing, dancing...a minute blonde girl, dishevelled, wearing a sweat stained far too big shirt, she too laughing, her eyes shining...the long-haired man from the other foto, two dogs at his feet, smiling down from the porch of a house. The car..and Sam couldn´t help smiling, because Dean stood in front of the car, someone else must have taken the foto, the Impala looked worn and scratched and rusty, and was layered with dust – but Dean smiled happily, a real smile touching his eyes. Sam´s throat tightened. Never. He´d never get the chance to see this smile now.

He put the fotos back, took the envelope, and went into the kitchen. Took a small knife out of the drawer, and sat down. He stared at the paper in his hands, the letters on it, rather small and rounded, almost feminine...and again, another thing he´d never be able to watch and learn to know, Dean writing something down, the pen moving...how did he hold the pen? He tried to remember from the evening at the pub...he was right-handed, Sam recalled as much.

Why did Dean leave him a letter? Was it an apology? Sam automatically felt for his bandages. He didn´t want an apology. He wanted a time machine and turn it back all those years to before that afternoon when a truck had lost control and crashed into the car of a happy family.

With an uneasy feeling, he opened the letter.

It was only one page, but written on on both sides...one side was some sort of list, the other a short message.

„Dear Sam,

I´m sorry for leaving this to you as a surprise, but I know my days are counted (maybe even the hours, who knows), and I don´t know how long I´ll be still able to write, or talk, or think at all. So I finally made this pretty rudimentary will. I have a great favor to ask you...could you see to it the items come to their new owners? Youll see it´s a short list only. If you dont want to do it, well, I´ll not kick your ass (now). Anyone´s free to donate the stuff to charity if they dont want it of course. Please tell them not to feel obligated to keep anything they dont want. It´s my dying wish, so they have to follow it!

Thank you, for holding me this morning and letting me make breakfast for you and giving me back an idea of how life was maybe meant to be, for a short moment.

Dean"

Sam just sat there, staring at the paper, the neat rounded writing, until the stinging in his eyes became unbearable, and he finally let his tears roll, not making a sound, until they dried up and the knot in his throat loosened.

Then he turned the page, and read the list.

„Novak."

„Cas."

„Who – Sam? Sam, Bloody Hell, where are you? They told me you´d gone home, but when I – you werent at the hotel, I was worried sick!"

„I´m at Dean´s house."

„What? Sam, you can´t be there, it´s probably a – a piece of evidence."

„You think I fucking care?"

Cas was silent for a moment. Sam could hear him breathe.

„Sam, I – "

„Cas, don´t. I know you did what you had to, it was. ..the only way." He thought of the tiny draft at his cheek, the bullet passing him so close it actually left a red stinging mark ...he had found out much later, when the ambulance man checked him for injuries. Cas probably had saved his life by reacting so fast...definitely so.

„You want me to come over? I could just vanish here..."

Sam heard the longing undertone.

„I – I think I need some time alone."

„I see. OK." He was disappointed, Sam could hear it, and a little worried.

„I´m OK, Cas, I really am. Are you?"

Cas didn´t respond immediately. „I think I am, yes."

„Good...listen, Cas, I wanted to ask you something.."  
„OK?"

„About what we talked about earlier...before..."

„The couple thing? Giving it a try? Sam, if you – if you need time or - "

„No, Cas. I wanted to ask you if you´re still in."  
Cas was silent for so long Sam got worried. „Cas? Are you still here?"

„Yes", it was barely a whisper, and the voice a little thick. „I´m still here. And yes, I´m still in."

Sam smiled, and looked down at the single sheet of paper on the table.

„Cas?"

„Yes?"

Sam looked at the Impala in the backyard, covered in fluffy snow.

„Dean left me his car."

In fact, he also left Cas the painting in the living room, the melancholic rainy landscape.

„Summer rain at Sonny´s" was scribbled at the back of the huge thing, they found out when they took it off the wall, and „Benny L., for Dean".

Sam consulted one of the FBI lawyers he knew before he drove to the hospital a few days later, to be sure the will was legally correct. It was.

Dr. Mills - „Jodie. Call me Jodie. Please." clapped her hands like a kid, and then abruptly left the room for a few minutes , coming back with red eyes, when he gave her notice she´d inherited Dean´s impressive LP collection („plus the boards and screws and the plan for a special shelf"). „Dammit, Dean", she huffed, with a rather thick voice. „We wanted to listen to your `best of´ list together. You promised!"

The motherly middle aged doctor („Dr. Harvelle...you can call me Ellen") with the piercing eyes he visited next was pretty surprised when he told her about the rug. „The Afghan rug? From his wall? Are you serious? God, that he even remembered ..." , and so was the whip-thin anesthesist who hugged Sam before, during, and after he´d told him he´d inherited Dean´s box of comic strips. The doctor, Garth, had a reverent expression on his face when he stared at Sam. „Oh my God, Sam. He´s got editions going back to the Sixties in there. Such an honor..."

Last on his list was Jo. The ex-girlfriend.

Of course, she was the girl on the foto, he´d already expected that...only looking more tired, and with a sadness around her eyes. Sam felt a little awkward when he approached her. Had she known Dean was...whatever...bi, most likely?

„Hi", she said, shaking his hand. Despite her minute figure, her grip was strong. She looked a little defiant. „So you are Agent Campbell."

„Sam, please. I´m not here ..er..officially."

She nodded, and they sat down in a small room with a coffee machine. Sam thought of Dean in his kitchen..the way his fingers cradled the cup.

Sam cleared his throat. „He mentioned you in his will, and asked me to - "

„He what?"

She looked seriously alarmed. „He made a will? And he - "

„Yes. He, ahem, he left you his bike. It says „To Jo, my bike and everything else she could need for it, but only if she promises to have fun with it." Sam swallowed.

Jo stared at him for an entire minute, immobile, then she jumped up and darted into the bathroom. Sam listened to the mixed sounds of sobbing and wretching for a while, staring at nothing in particular. When it got quiet, he gently rapped on the bathroom door.

„Jo? Can I come in?" He waited for a moment, then went inside. Jo was crouching on the floor, her face was a mess, so was her hair, but she looked calm. Sam sat down on the opposite wall, and waited.

„He showed me, you know? How to repair it...well, the most important things. I was ...perplexed, when he offered it, because...well, he always was a little..protective of his rides." She rubbed her eyes. „I didn´t—I didn´t suspect that he..." She took a deep breath. „I dind´t know about the cancer. He didn´t tell me, and he made Dr. Mills promise...I´m a fucking doctor, and I didn´t even think about the possibility, not after he went to the head scan in august, and told me everything was as it should be." She frowned. „I – I never thought about it before, but – it was a strange way to put it, dont you think? As it should be...he didn´t say Ok, or, or, fine, or...listen, Jo, I have a tumor the size of a small water melon in my brain and I´m gonna die around Christmas, so..." She looked at Sam tiredly. „Why didn´t he tell me, Sam? That´s what I´m asking myself since..why he didn´t trust me."

Sam shook his head. „Maybe it wasn´t about trust. Maybe it was about protection."

„Protection", she huffed. „You knew the man for..what, two days, and you already found out about his...protectiveness? No wonder you´re FBI." She glanced at her feet. „It was so weird...he was so shut down when I met him..in Haiti, you know? And then I saw him with the kids there..it was...like there was a different person in front of me all of a sudden. He was so...kind, and gentle, and funny, and...he made them laugh. In all that chaos, he ..he played soccer with the kids, and let the girls paint his face with lipstick."

She smiled at Sam. „I was in love with this man, but I had accepted the other part of him. The angry part..all those problems, you know? He had..a lot of them. Hell, a Mount Everest of problems."

Sam wondered if she had ever talked with anyone about it. Being the girlfriend of a traumatized soldier was tough enough..but with someone like Dean, whose traumata reached back to his early childhood, and never really seemed to end...he couldn´t even imagine what efforts it must have cost her. What patience.

„It must have been tough", he said.

She shrugged. „You know what my Mom always says...you can climb even the Mount Everest if you take one step at a time." She looked into Sam´s face. „He was worth it, you know? That man inside him. I´d done everyting to..." She shook her head. „Or so I thought. Guess I´m not that ...I wasn´t up to the challenge after all."

„Jo, you can´t possibly - "

„I left him, Sam. Just when he´d have needed me most. I can never forgive myself for that."

„Maybe he wanted it that way. Gave you a way out, you know?"

She buried her face in her arms. „I don´t know, Sam. It would be convenient to think that, right? All the fighting, and his anger, he – he scared me, Sam. He wasn´t – something was taking over, and I ...I was tired. Tired of the fights, and his changing moods, the nightmares. Most of all, I was tired of him shutting down on me more and more." She straightened up again. „So, yes, part of me was glad when we broke up. I thought, heck, I´m too young to be a – a psychologist and a ward for the rest of my life." Sam admired her for her honesty. And strength. Everyone else would probably run from the challenge long before her.

She sighed. „Maybe I would have been able to stop him, Sam. Keep that...other...the monster inside him. That´s what I keep wondering about since last week."

„Jo.."

„He would have deserved to die in peace. He´d have deserved it. Not like..."

„I know."

„And the things they are calling him in the news..the papers...they only see the monster."

„Part of him was the monster, Jo."

„I know that! But ...don´t they see the good he did? The charity work in his holidays, and operating for free...he still went to see the kids here at the hospital every week, you know? To make them laugh. Even...being sick and all."

Sam shook his head. „He was both, Jo, we´ll have to accept that. And right now, to the world he´s the dark side only. But, you know...we might be able to turn the public opinion a little. The men he killed...they werent the model citizens they pretended to be. We have already lots of material, and I guess there´s more to find. He´ll get at least ...some...justice."

It took them some time for real, but in the end, the „ Slayer Monster" turned into the „Dark Angel of Justice", or „Doctor Batman" (which Sam found so dumb it was already funny...and Dean probably would have loved it). Milton was accused and convicted of child abuse and sexual exploitation of minors by producing pictures for the „Little Fallen Angels" – website, right in one of the basemant rooms of the childrens´ home. They couldn´t prove he´d had anything to do with his daughter Anna´s death, although Sam and Cas (and most of the actual investigators) were pretty sure her fall wasn´t an accident. Maybe Jesse had told her something, she was his tutor...they´d never find out. Sam knew Milton would have a hard time in jail – child abusers were the lowest in the food chain there. He didn´t feel the least bit sorry for the man, and corraborated Cas´ story how he had been forced to knock the other man out for safety reasons with a dark pleasure.

He´d gone to see Sonny, too, with Cas, and they´d taken the Impala. Dean had left a note on the list, „If you need help, go see Sonny. He´ll know what to do."

They´d sat in Sonny´s kitchen, drinking tea (coffee for Sonny, black as hell, and Sam knew then where Dean had his addiction from), and Sonny glanced at the two pictures Sam had brought with him – Sonny on the porch with the dogs, and Dean with the other boy, Benny, as he knew now.

„Those two", Sonny smiled down at the foto. „First, I thought they´d rip each other´s head off. It was like...fight for your life, you know? Two alpha males trying to survive. And then suddenly...they found their own way of surviving."

He looked up, sad, but smiling. „I think they saved each other´s lives. Pulled each other out of...Hell, or Purgatory, whatever place they were stuck in, with their history."

Sam cleared his throat. „So, I – I understand they were a couple?"

Sonny laughed. „Even had a little ceremony here...not with a priest, of course, but they made their vovs and everything. Even exchanged rings. That was before..before they went abroad." He stared at the foto once more. „When Benny was killed, and Dean didn´t come back as planned a month later...I was worried. Didn´t hear from him for two years. And then, one day he stood on the porch, and he - " Sam saw the older man shiver. „He didn´t even look like himself anymore. I don´t know what they did to him, or made him do, he never told me. But he looked like he was lost in the dark, eternally. Like..he´d been to Hell, and pulled out, with no idea how to survive the...memories. The knowledge of what he´d done. The guilt almost killed him."

He turned the necklace in his fingers, the one with the little horned head on it Dean had left him („He´ll know why").

Cas had been quiet all the time, listening, watching, but now his curiosity got the better of him. „Is this a symbol for something?"

Sonny smiled at the little bronze head. „It´s kind of a mixture of middle-eastern gods and goddesses, actually...Mesopotamian, Egyptian, Zoroastrian...it´s a deity fighting off evil, and chaos, and protecting the truly righteous from the demonic forces." He looked up at Cas. „I gave it to him on his first Christmas here...he was fifteen. He said...he said it was his first real Christmas present. Well, since...since when his parents had died."

Sam felt restless, and Sonny suggested they take a walk; they walked through the bare winter landscape for almost an hour, until they reached a small lake. Sam pulled Cas up a little hill. Cas wasn´t very fond of walking, especially in winter, Sam had learned that much during their few weeks together. „Wow! This is...amazing!", Sam exclaimed. They stood on a cliff that fell down to the lake´s surface at least 50 feet.

Sonny joined them.

„They loved it here. Dean and Benny. It was...kindof their place, you know."

Sam looked over the immobile water surface. The landscape was covered in snow now, and the lake had a ring of silvery ice around its dark center. The trees stood black against the grey sky, some of their branches frozen to the lake where they hung low, and covered with a layer of white chrystals. It was calm, and beautiful.

„It´s...peaceful", he heard Cas say.

Sonny laughed, and Sam thought about how he knew this man for a few hours now and already really liked him.

„It is...and I think that was what those two needed...peace." He scratched his front where the woolen cap left an imprint on it.

„But believe me, they didn´t only sit here and hold hands, staring into the sunset. In summer, you could hear them laugh and squeal and splash around for miles, I guess. They didn´t leave out the fun... It was...they were so young, and so much in love, it almost hurt looking at them sometimes."

Sam watched a flock of crows fly up one of the tall poplars, circle the lake, and settle down on the branches of another tree. He imagined this place during summer...the blue lake, lush meadows around it, the corn fields and small groups of trees and woods. The sound of the crickets, and mayflies dancing up and down in the warm air. He saw the two boys from the picture stand on the hill, hand in hand, and run, run, laughing, and jump into the water, legs and arms flailing, but not letting go of each other´s hand, carefree, and happy, and he could still hear their laughter when they were already on the way back to the house, the snow crunching crisply under their feet.


End file.
